


Through The Open Window

by 74days



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940's setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dr Erskine is only really mentioned a couple of times, F/F, First Time, Frottage, Howard is really only mentioned in the passing, M/M, Masterbation, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Semi-Public Sex, amputee bucky, ofc/ofc background relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/pseuds/74days
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers gave up on joining the army and worked for Stark Industries writing policy letters by hand. It's a dull job, right up until the office across the fire escape is given to an attractive stranger with one arm and no personal boundaries.<br/>Was going to be PWP but then there was like... a little plot? Steve and Bucky if Steve & Bucky never met as kids, I guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There isn’t a lot of room between the two buildings, just enough for a narrow alley and the fire escapes that almost touch, and Steve’s so proud that he’s got an office with a window that he’s willing to overlook the fact that his only view is into an office pretty much identical to his own.  
He might be stashed right at the back of the building, doing the tiresome letter writing that no one else liked, but it was hard enough to get a job when you were healthy and active, and Steve, small, skinny and sick – wasn’t about to stick his nose up at an indoors job in a warm, dry office. The office across the alley had been empty for a week – the active, healthy men getting drafted and called in to fight while Steve sat and wrote in his neat hand until his fingers cramped. The war had been going on for years and Steve had given up on getting out there – with 7 rejection letters stuffed in the back of a drawer in the illegal subdivision he shared with two other guys. Steve was sitting this war out against his will.  
He worked late – he always worked late – because it was warmer in the office even when everyone else had left for the day than it was in his tiny room, and his boss thought it was diligent and hard-working and whenever he walked past the room he’d pop in and slap Steve hard on the shoulder and say:  
“I wish all my guys were as hard working as you, son.”  
And Steve would nod and smile and try to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that was so sure he could be doing more. That he was more. More than skinny Steve Rogers, writing out letters 6 days a week for a wage that kept him able to top up his medication and little else.

* * *

  
He was the first to arrive in the morning, bright and early and able to get a hot cup of coffee before he set himself up for another day of monotony. His roommates work down at the docks, loading and unloading, and they think Steve’s a stuck up sissy – but he pays the most rent and keeps to himself, so as long as they don’t think he’s looking at them, they leave him alone.  
Last night both of them had come back drunk and ready for a fight, and Steve had slept with a chair holding his door closed, just in case. He was small and easily overpowered – they were drunk and strong – so he’d gotten hardly any sleep and could already feel his head starting to throb. He expected another day of repetitive work with nothing to distract him from the pain in his head.  
However, when he pushed open the door of his little back room, he noticed something new right away.  
The office over the dirty alley wasn’t empty. There was a man sitting at the desk across the way.  
He had his back to Steve, and his hair was a little longer than it should have been – but that wasn’t what Steve noticed. His suit had been pinned up on one side – his entire left arm gone. His window was cracked open, letting in the cool morning air, and a packet of smokes lay on the sill.  
Unlike Steve, he had a typewriter (Steve’s penmanship was the reason he’d been given the job over the dames that applied) and was typing fairly quickly for a guy with only one arm.  
Steve tried not to stare at his back while he settled himself down for the day – the guy who’d worked across the alley before used to glare over if he thought Steve was looking, so Steve got used to keeping his head down and not looking up for any reason.

* * *

  
An hour later, something tapped against his window, causing Steve to let out a rather unmanly squeak. The one armed man was leaning out of his window, tapping gently on Steve’s window with what looked like a slim walking cane.  
His window opens all the way. It’s technically not supposed to open at all, but the latch that’s designed to stop it is bust. When he pushes his window open and clicks it into place, he can see that the one armed man has jimmied a wedge of cardboard between the window and the lock so that he can push his open fully too – and for some reason, that makes Steve a little warm – but then he sees the man leaning out of his window properly.  
He’s attractive.  
He’s more than attractive; he’s probably the most beautiful man Steven Grant Rogers has ever seen in the whole of his life. His too long hair is falling over his blue eyes – dark and warm and only a shade or two lighter than navy, framed by thick black lashes and a mouth than made Steve want to blush and look away. He’d be too pretty – pretty like a girl was pretty, if it wasn’t for the masculine squareness of his jaw, or the strong line of his nose.  
“Wanna smoke?” He asked, and his Brooklyn accent was strong and bold and everything Steve wanted to be. He was holding out a bashed packet of cigarettes, a few missing already. Steve was sorely tempted to try just so he could prolong the connection – but he knew his own limits.  
“Asthma.” He said, throat working the word. It had been the first thing he’d said in almost 24 hours.  
“Do you mind if I?” The man asks, and waves the packet at Steve before tapping the carton on the sill, causing a single cigarette to pop up from the rest. “Wind’ll blow the smoke away.”  
“Go ahead.” Steve said, unsure what he was supposed to do now. Did he close his window and go back to work? Would the one armed man think that was rude? Should be leave the window open?  
The man was sitting on the sill now, the cigarette hanging from his full lips as he fished a packet of matches out of his jacket pocket. “Keep meaning to quit.” He said, conversationally, his voice easy and smooth and nothing at all like Steve’s unsure words, the unlit cigarette bobbing as he talked. “Save myself a few coins a week, you know?” He paused and looked over at Steve, and Steve was aware that his shirt was thin and worn, and a couple sizes too big, and the one armed man was pressed and smart and really very attractive. “James Barnes.” He said, and grinned. “I’d shake your hand, but…” He winked and lit the match against the window sill, “Only got the one.”  
“Steven Rogers.” Steve said, and watched as James lit the cigarette with ease, dropping the match down into the alley when he was done, the yellow flame flickering for a moment then going out completely before it even hit the ground.  
“So, Steven Rogers, what’s got you looking so stressed at 8am on a Tuesday morning?” He smirked when he talked, and Steve was fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes away from that damn sinful mouth. He was always pretty sure that he liked dames, although none of them ever gave him the time of day, but there was no denying that he thought James Barnes was the best looking person he’d ever seen. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to think these things about another man. It was hard enough to live with his roommates who thought he was a pervert – god knows what they’d do to him if it were true. “Cat got your tongue?” James said, looking over at him with those damn impossible eyes.  
“Just… no. Just work.” Steve managed to splutter out, after waiting too long to reply.  
“Whatcha doing?”  
“I write policy cover letters.”  
“By hand?”  
“Yeah.”  
James laughed, and Steve found himself smiling despite himself. “Jesus, I thought I had it bad.”  
“What they got you doing?” Steve asked, leaning his shoulder on the frame of the window. He wanted to look casual, relaxed, but he was all too aware of his heart trying to beat out of his chest.  
“Trust me, you don’t wanna know.” James winked. Steve found himself flushing just a little.  
“You know, now I really wanna know.” Steve grinned, and felt his stomach flip dramatically when James leaned over to him a little more as though the drop between them wasn’t even there.  
“I type up the stories folk send in for the bibles.”  
Steve wasn’t sure why this might have been something James might think was worth the conspiratorial look for. “You type up folks prayers?”  
James laugh this time was a big thing, filling up the alley between them and bouncing up and across the walls. “Not that kinda bible,” He said, once he’d laughed himself out. “You know, the blue type.”  
Steve knew he turned a funny shade of red when he finally (finally) worked out what James meant. The kind of top shelf rag that the boys at the orphanage would find stuffed under mattresses and filled with dirty stories about fast women and dangerous men. “Oh.” He said, after a too long pause. Then he laughed a little himself. “I think a lotta prayers are said over those pages too though.”  
James snorted so hard that Steve thought he might have accidentally swallowed his cigarette. “You look like a damn angel.” He said, after he’d finished coughing up a lung. “You got a devils mouth on ya.”

* * *

  
James kept his window open all day, and when he left at 6, he called over to Steve with a jaunty whistle and a cocky salute before shutting it tight for the day. Steve shut his window as soon as James was gone – although he stayed at work for another two hours.

* * *

  
He was getting ready for bed when the door of his apartment burst open and his two roommates came home. Unlike the night before when they’d been drunk and angry, tonight they seemed drunk and in good spirits. The reason was quite clear after a few seconds.  
“Come on, doll,” Carl – the larger, stupider of the two, was saying – and Steve felt his whole body flush. It wasn’t the first time they’d brought girls back to the flat. “Don’t be a prude.”  
“I told ya I wanna go home.” Her voice was small and scared and Steve just knew (he just knew) that he was gonna end up getting the tar beaten right out of him before the night was over.  
“It’s just us here, come on.” Grant (smaller, meaner) was saying. “You were happy enough to drink our drinks at the hall.”  
“You said you’d walk me home.” She was saying, and Steve could hear the shuffling steps and then the tell-tale click of the lock on the front door.  
“Well, we’re home now.” Grant was saying, and Steve knew that this wasn’t gonna go well. “So why don’tcha be a good girl and show us how much your gonna like what we’ve got for ya?”  
“I’ve got something nice for ya.” Carl said, and yeah, Steve wasn’t gonna let this happen, not ever, not even if they killed him. Hauling his pants and shoes back on lightning quick, he grabbed the handle of his door and swung it open, fast.  
The scene in front of him was like something out of any girls worst dream – the little dark headed girl was pinned against the wall, with Grant pressed up against her – one hand holding her down and the other working its way up her dress.  
“What the hell are you doing!” Steve snapped, and marched forward. They had been drinking, which was probably why his sudden and loud entrance had stumped them, mouths hanging open and staring at him like he was some kind of ghost. He reached out and grabbed the girls arm, small, even smaller than him, and gave her a sharp tug.  
He managed to haul her into his own room and jam a chair hard against the door before Grant and Carl realised what he’d done. The hollered and roared and kicked as hard as they could, but Steve just pressed the chair harder into the door and tried to ignore the way the thin wood looked like it would give way any moment.  
It took a half hour before they finally stopped trying to get into his room, with one swift kick to the door that very nearly broke it in two. “You show your face in here again, Rogers, we’ll fucking kill you, you little invert.” Grant hissed, before they left for their own room. Steve knew better than to unlock the door and check to see if they were gone. Carl might have been an idiot, but Grant was mean and he’d keep an eye on Steve’s room to make sure that when Steve did show his face, Grant could mess it up.  
He’d almost forgot about the girl, who’d tucked herself into the corner of his room and was watching him with a fearful expression on her face. She was pretty, but young – younger than Steve – young enough that she shouldn’t have been out at all, he figured.  
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” He said, after he was sure that Grant wasn’t going to try to kick down the door again. She nodded, but didn’t make any move to leave the corner where she was pressed in so tight. He didn’t have a window in his room, so he couldn’t help her down the fire escape. “I’m Steve.” He said, and she nodded again, because (of course) Carl and Grant had been quite vocal about how much they were gonna kill him when they caught him. “I… sorry.” He said, after a while. “I’ll be able to walk you home once they go to sleep.”  
His room wasn’t big, enough space for a chair and his bed – he used the chair to hang up his clothes as neat as he could and used the bed to sit and draw on. Under the bed was a suitcase that held pretty much everything he owned, half empty and too light for a whole life. “Sorry their aint much space.”  
“He was nice enough in the hall.” She said after a long wait where neither of them tried to look at the other. “I didn’t know he had a friend until he said they’d walk me home.” Her voice was small, and soft – and Steve wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, because he’d never been in a situation like this before.  
“Guys like that are jerks.” He said, and then felt like maybe that sounded like he was blaming her for going with a jerk, so he quickly added. “You weren’t to know.”  
“I’m Abigail.”  
“Pleased to meet you.” Steve said, and her smile was soft and a little nervous.

* * *

  
She was 17 years old, and she was taking lessons to become a typist. He let her sit on his bed while he carefully packed his belongings. He didn’t think much of Carl and Grant, but he knew that they would make good on their promises to beat the living daylights out of him, and he wasn’t gonna take that risk. He’d been beat up to many times as a kid, ended up bleeding and wheezing in too many alleys and lost too many days off work by pig headed foolishness to test his luck now.  
Together they left the apartment before dawn, and he’d been right to think that Grant would have been keeping an eye – he was sleeping curled up on the floor not 2 foot from Steve’s door. Abigail very carefully snuck passed his sleeping form, eyes wide with fear.  
Steve didn’t leave his half of the rent, the money in his pocket and his suitcase in his hand.

* * *

  
“You look like hell.” James said; as Steve eased open his window. He’d need all the fresh air in the world to get him through a night completely devoid of sleep. James was already sitting on the sill, a lit cigarette between his lips. He was wearing the same suit as the day before, but he’d taken off the jacket and was sitting in his shirt, suspenders a stark black against the whiteness of the linen. The empty sleeve was neatly pinned up again.  
“Long night.” Steve said, before a yawn threatened to dislocate his jaw.  
“I’ll bet.” James winked. “You’ve still got a little lipstick…” He swiped a thumb over his own lip, and Steve could feel his face burning as he scrubbed his face. “Yeah, you got it.” James said, after a few frantic scrubs. “Some dame you must have there.” He smirked.  
“It’s not like that.” Steve stammered, because Abigail had been sweet and nice and far too innocent. She’s kissed him on the lips before she snuck back into her cousin’s apartment via the window. Steve hoped she’d be a little more careful in the future.  
“A saucy dame kept you up all night, and it aint like that?” James crowed. “Oh, you should be writing these things.” He said, waving a few pages of chicken scratch. “Sounds like the kinda tale I read about all day.”  
Steve blushed harder, and shook his head.

* * *

  
In the end, he told James about the night before, sitting on the sill and chatting away for almost an hour before Steve realised the time. “So you just left?” James said, sounding a little strangled. “You aint got nowhere else to go?”  
“I got a place.” Steve lied. His suitcase was hidden under his desk and he had a plan. Not a great plan, but a plan all the same.  
-  
Steve worked through his lunch break. His window was open when his boss walked past, but James was sitting at his desk typing away one handed. “Hello Steven,” He said, sounding pleased to find Steve with his head bowed down on his own time. “I wish all my guys worked half as hard as you.” He smiled. He was a good guy, Steve liked him.  
“Thank you, Mr Erskine.”  
“Do you want me to have someone come fix that window for you?” He asked, looking out and obviously seeing James working away across the alley.  
“Oh, it’s good for my chest.” Steve lied. “The air.”  
Mr Erskine nodded, and smiled big and wide. “Oh, of course, we’ve got to keep our best worker fit and healthy.”

* * *

  
“Hey! Steve.” James voice carried over the alley, not too loud, but loud enough to get his attention. He was hard of hearing in his left ear, so he was strangely pleased that the window was on his right. He kicked back from his desk so he could see James clearly.  
“Yeah?”  
“What you think of this?” He said, and a paper aeroplane flew from his fingers, right across the alley and almost landed directly in Steve’s lap.  
For the past couple of days, James had been keeping up their morning ritual of sitting on the sill and talking for an hour or so before working all the way to 6 when he left for the day. The paper plane was a neatly folded up letter, and Steve carefully smoothed it out before reading.  
He is handsome and slight, with long fingers that I long to have touching my bare  
Steve spluttered and choked, covering the letter with his hand and trying to ignore the laugh drifting over the alley from where James was leaning back in his chair, watching him. “Your face, Stevie!” He crowed, slapping his thigh with his hand.  
“These are private letters.” Steve blushed, trying to fold the paper back into the aircraft that had sent it flying over.  
“She sent them in to be printed,” James pointed out. “Loadsa guys are gonna read em.” He grinned, balancing his chair on two legs as he leaned back. “Anyway, I thought you might wanna read that one cause she talks about how this hero saved her from these two drunk brutes.” He winked. “Sounds pretty much like the girl you rescued, don’t it?”  
“Right up until this.” Steve said, waiting the letter. “She was scared half out of her mind, she wasn’t thinking about me like that.”  
“Maybe not at the time,” James grinned, “But I bet when all her girlfriends started asked her where she’d been, I bet she’d start thinking of all the ways she could have thanked her rescuer.” He gave a one shoulder shrug. “They get paid for the letters if they are published, you know. Maybe she sauced it up a bit for the money.”  
“She kissed me on the cheek to say goodbye at that was it.”  
James laughed again. “Well maybe she sauced it up a lot for the money.” Steve rolled his eyes and threw the letter over the alley, and although it didn’t land as neat as he’d hoped, it still made it over to the other office without falling into the alley.  
“She was a nice girl.”  
“Hey!” James said, smoothing out the letter. “Lotsa nice girls write in. Nice girls gotta pay the bills just the same as anyone else.”

* * *

  
Steve’s office had a lock on the door, so that at the end of the day he could lock up safe in the knowledge that no one would disturb the letters he wrote out. It also meant that no one ever entered his office after 6.00pm.  
He’d not gone back to his apartment since leaving with Abigail over a week ago – his suitcase was still crammed into the back of his desk where no one could see. He’d added a blanket, second hand but warm, to his list of meagre possessions.  
The reason was simple. His office was warm (too warm in the summer) because it was right next to the boiler in the back of the building, so even at night when everyone had gone home and the boiler was turned off, it still threw out a lot of heat. His door had a lock. There was even a small bathroom at the end of the corridor, with a sink and a stall.  
And Steve had nowhere to live.  
He’d always been the first to arrive and the last to leave, so no one noticed that for the past week… he hadn’t actually left. It was saving him money, and not actually costing the company anything at all, so he didn’t feel anything other than a slight sense of guilt over the whole thing, and not anywhere near enough to go back to Grant and Carl. Especially since he’d left without paying his share of the rent. It was probable that they would actually beat him to death – he paid twice the amount they did under the guise of having his own room, but he’d only really been safe with the chair propped up against the door and he’d been made to feel unwelcome anywhere else. So… he just curled up against the back wall of his office, wrapped in his warm blanket and slept for a solid 8 hours a night. He didn’t think he’d ever gotten as much sleep in the whole of his life. It more than made up for washing his underwear in the sink down the hall.

* * *

  
“So, what do you do when you aint at work?” James asked, sitting on the sill with one of his smokes between his lips. “Guy like you gotta have some hobbies, aside from saving dames.”  
“I used to draw.” Steve found himself saying, because he really didn’t do anything aside from work anymore.  
“Yeah?” James said, sounding interested, which was nice. Steve knew he probably wasn’t, but the idea that he’d fake it was a nice thought.  
“I went to art school for a while.” Steve nodded. “Before the war.”  
“I worked the docks.” James said, “Before the war.” He waved his hand over the space in his shirt, still neatly pinned and pressed. “And then there was the war, and now I’m here.” He grimaced. “Not much use for a one armed dock worker, it seems.”  
“Plenty use for a one armed blue bible writer, though, James.” Steve noted.  
James snorted through his nose and grinned. “Well that’s cause they aint worrying I got one hand on the typer and the other on my Johnson, like all the other guys here, Stevie.” He said. “And, Jesus, call me Bucky.”

* * *

  
“Hey Steve?”  
“Yeah, Bucky?”  
“You know a lot of folks that draw?”  
The weather was getting colder, cold enough that Steve would have rather closed his window tight against the chill, but that would mean shutting Bucky out, and he wasn’t about to do that. He was wearing two undershirts and three pairs of socks to make up for it though. Bucky seemed not to mind the cold, sitting in his shirt and suspenders again, jacket forgotten on the back of his chair. “Not so much, why?”  
“My editor wants me to add in some dirty pictures to match the stories.” Bucky said, “And hell if I know who to ask.” He leaned back on his chair. At some point, he’d moved his desk so that he no longer had his back to Steve, but faced the wall so that if they both leaned back a little on their chairs, they’d see each other with ease. The fact that Bucky had moved his office around just so he could talk to Steve better wasn’t helping Steve’s heart rate at all.  
“What kind of pictures?”  
“You know, like if the story says that she’s against the wall getting a few fingers,” He laughed at Steve’s mortified expression, before carrying on, “Then like, a picture with that.”  
Steve hadn’t quite gotten used to the way Bucky talked about his work. He’d tried to explain it; he said that when you read it all day, hundreds of letters and stories, you kinda forget it’s about sex. It just becomes a job. He told Steve he forgot that maybe normal people didn’t spend all day reading and typing all these things – he forgot to censor his words. He’d told Steve how his boss told him at the interview that as long as he kept his door shut he could pull on his Johnson all day if he wanted – he just had to get the stories typed up in time for the deadline.  
“I’ve walked in on pretty much every guy in here tugging one out in the toilets. “ He’d said, shrugging. “Sometimes you gotta let it out, you know?”  
Steve didn’t know. Well, he did – he was only human – but when Bucky would say stuff about… that… Steve’s mind filled in all the blanks. Vividly. With sounds and colour and heat – and Bucky.  
“I’ll see what I can do.” Steve said, “About the drawings.”

* * *

  
He slipped out on his lunch break rather than work through it like normal, and bought himself a new sketch book and some new pencils as well as something to eat. He did have a few friends from art school, but he seriously doubted that he would be able to ask them if they’d draw pictures for dirty books. Even if they would – Steve doubted he’d be able to get the words out.

* * *

  
Bucky had thrown a paper file over the alley and into Steve’s office – a stamp on the front with ‘Red Room Printing’ in black ink – not that much different from the Stark Investments stamp that was on the folders already around Steve’s office. “I’ve got about three days.” Bucky told him as he got ready to leave for the day. “Just throw anything together – you’ll get paid, I promise.”

* * *

  
The stories were terrible. Really, truly the worst things Steve had ever read in the whole of his life, and he could see that Bucky had been trying to improve them by changing a few things around, fixing some spelling and rewording (often re-writing) whole sections. Bucky’s writing was good, vivid and real and very, very blue.  
Steve sat that night with his back to the wall and his blanket around his knees, a couple of candles placed carefully around him for light (he didn’t want to turn on the main light in case someone saw and come to investigate) and started to draw.

* * *

  
The first pictures were terrible, horrible and stilted and completely wrong – he hadn’t picked up a pencil to draw anything for years and he was out of practice. By the end of the night though, he had re-found his style – remembered about the shading and the lighting and how to blend. As he blew out the candles and settled down for the night he knew that he’d have something for Bucky by the time was up.

* * *

  
It rained the next day – the first time since Bucky started working across the alley, and Steve wasn’t able to open the window – not even a little, without the rain pouring in. He could still see Bucky, sitting at his desk, typing away with one hand flying over the keys, but Steve found he missed their daily conversations. He also missed Bucky leaving at 6, because he was terrible at realising the time. When he glanced up and saw that Bucky had already left, his heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. Which he was sure was normal, among friends.

* * *

  
The stories Bucky had thrown over the alley weren’t really any good, but Bucky had re-written them and added a few details that made Steve squirm a little under his skin. With the rain still hammering against his window, and the candles hardly throwing off any light, he tried to ignore the feeling as his pencil scratched along the paper. She was slight, and blond, with pincurls and a bright red smile, her skirt hiked up to her garter belt as the ‘mystery man’ behind her reached around to play with the curls between her legs. One of her breasts had spilled out of her blouse, and his other hand was tweaking the nipple hard so that it bulged between his thick fingers. In the story she’d been unable to see his face, but Steve gave him Bucky’s broad shoulders and too long brown hair and left it at that. The girl’s eyes were looking almost right at the viewer, like a dare – and Steve was proud of the neat lines.  
He’d drawn another, of just her face, looking up at the viewer, lips swollen and shining with spit – a thick, veined cock spewing white dollops of cum over her well made-up face. Steve wasn’t sure if dames actually liked that (It seemed messy and a waste after carefully applying their powder and make-up) but it was in the story so he drew it anyway.

* * *

  
The rain fell all through the night, but when Bucky arrived at work it had slowed to a soft drizzle that didn’t stop Steve from opening his window. “Some weather, huh?” Bucky said, instead of his usual ‘Morning, Stevo.’ He was wearing his jacket, still a bit damp at the shoulders where he’d obviously walked through the rain, hair curling a little as it dried.  
“Sorry I missed you going yesterday.” Steve said, holding up the folder. “I was gonna give you this, but I was worried about the rain.”  
Bucky grinned. “Gotta say, Steve, I’m sure pleased I’ve got a fella like you working across the way – you’ve saved my skin with this.”  
Steve blushed as he tossed over the folder, and didn’t fail to notice that Bucky didn’t even look at it before he pulled out his packet of smokes. “You whack off like the guys here when you read it?” He asked, and Steve wasn’t lying when he shook his head.  
He’d done it later, quiet and scared that someone would walk in and see him and know – know that he thought about Bucky when he did it.

* * *

  
Later, with the damp smell of New York floating through his window and half way through a particularly wordy letter about changes to a policy, Bucky fell of his chair with a muffled cry of “Jesus Christ Steve!”  
Steve looked over to see Bucky’s legs in the air and the folder with his drawings flying through the office. He laughed.

* * *

  
The paid him two dollars for the pictures – promised steady money if he could keep them coming – and Bucky got a raise for finding someone to draw what his boss described as ‘the dirtiest pictures in New York.’

* * *

  
Sundays were hard for Steve. The whole building was shut tight – so he either had to stay in the building for a whole 24 hours by himself, or leave along with everyone else and walk the streets till it was time to go back on Monday.  
He’d been sleeping in his office for almost a month – saving every penny he could in the back of his desk drawer – when Bucky leaned over on Saturday night.  
“Hey, Steve, you wanna go out tonight? See if we can’t find a drink and a couple dames to keep us right?” He was leaning against the sill and grinning broadly. Steve had already prepared himself for another long day of sitting in his office waiting for Monday to roll around – he’d planned on drawing a couple of new pictures, maybe trying to have a better wash without worrying someone would walk in an find him standing naked in the toilets.  
“I aint got nothing to wear.” He said instead, because Bucky didn’t know that Steve still hadn’t found a place to live. He didn’t even have much of an excuse anymore – he’d had no bills or rent for a full month, he’d more than enough to get another place saved up, especially since he’d gotten a whole 4 extra dollars for his drawings, he’d managed to give Bucky another two since the last time.  
“Wear what you got on.” Bucky countered. “Dames like a man who looks like he’s got a steady job.”  
He found himself agreeing, although he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do when the night was over – nowhere to go once Bucky went home.

* * *

  
He left before he could think better of it, he walked down the stairs to the front of the building. He had money in his pocket – more than enough for a night of whatever Bucky had planned, before he realised that this was the first time he’d ever really talked to Bucky outside of their strange conversations through their respective windows.  
He was just about to start panicking when a strong arm was wrapped around his shoulder. “So you wanna go right out or what? Food?”  
Bucky smelt like paper, smoke from his cigarettes and some kind of subtle cologne. He was solid and warm and Steve wanted to catalogue everything. “I worked through lunch.” Steve reminded him, and Bucky pulled him along with a grin.  
“Well, I guess it’s time to feed you up.”

* * *

  
They went to a local joint Bucky swore by, and ate two whole pizza’s between them. Bucky didn’t seem to mind that Steve didn’t have much to say, he more than made up for it by trying to shock Steve with the things that happen across the alley at Red Room. “I swear, I walked in on him, and he’s got this girl on her knees, and he just looks up at me and says: ‘Barnes, good work on the last issue.’ Just like that, with his dick halfway in her mouth.”  
Steve was bright red and trying desperately not to think about what that might feel like, when Bucky nudged his shoulder. They were talking quiet and close because if anyone were to hear what was coming out of Bucky’s mouth they’d be out of the street in seconds. “It was kinda like that picture you drew.” He said, voice low.  
“The one that had you falling outta your chair?” Steve asked, because teasing Bucky was one of the best feelings in the world.  
His laugh was loud, loud enough that a few heads turned to look at them before looking away. “Jesus, I wasn’t expecting those. You got some talent, Steve.” He fished around in his pocket. “My boss, he wanted me to give you this. He wants to make a book just of pictures like the one you draw.” It was a card, crisp and white with black writing stamped on it. “He’s offering a lot of money, he thinks a lot of guys’ll want to see more, you know. If you wanna.”  
Steve took the card between his fingers and smiled. It would make sense that Bucky would have asked him to go out to ask him this, like a business meeting. He ignored the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was probably the pizza. “Thanks.” He said, “You can tell him I’ll think about it.”  
Bucky seemed to be relieved, sinking back into the chair. “Great. I’m pretty sure he’d kill me if I forgot to ask. You want to get desert?” He glanced over at Steve and shot him a grin. “Gotta ask though – how’d you convince your girl to pose for ya? She’s gotta know guys are beatin off to her face.”  
It took Steve a few seconds to understand what Bucky was asking, and when he realised, Bucky had taken his silence to mean something else. “Shit, I mean, I’m not saying your girl is fast or anything, I just,” He ran his hand through his hair. “I just mean, you know…”  
“I just made em up.” Steve said, quickly. “It’s not a real girl, I just… made her up.”  
“Holy shit, really?” Bucky said, leaning back again. When Steve nods, he winks. “Man, we were convinced you had a gaggle of dames posing with your dick, you know?”  
“Is that why you asked me out tonight?” Steve said, hoping that his tone was the right mix of playful and serious. “Thought I had a handful of fast girls just hanging around?”  
Bucky laughed a little, warm and open and it made Steve feel like squirming a little in his seat. “Hey, a guy like me needs all the help he can get,” he grinned, eyes sparkling. He waved his hand over the neatly pinned arm of his jacket and threw Steve a smirk. “Girls love a good war hero – no so much when he’s got bits missing.” Steve wondered if the smirk was to hide the hurt. Bucky always made light of the fact that his arm was gone, but sometimes Steve could see the hardness in his jaw when he mentioned it.  
“I guess it really depends on the bits you’re missing.” He tried, tone light, playful – maybe even a little flirtatious. Bucky’s laugh was too loud for the joint and Steve ducked his head to avoid the glares of the patrons.  
“My important bits are just fine.” Bucky snorted. “Trust me.”

* * *

  
Steve insisted on paying for the pizzas and the milkshakes they ordered, and told Bucky that he could buy the first round of drinks when they got to the bars. Bucky walked with a swagger that Steve thought was part natural gait and partly because he needed to compensate for the lack of weight on his left side. It didn’t matter though, his right arm was slung over Steve’s shoulder and he kept up a steady stream of commentary as they walked, making Steve laugh too much and too loud, caught up in the force of Bucky’s personality.  
-  
The first place they planned on going to was a popular dancehall, the kind of place Steve avoided like the plague and seemed to be somewhat of a second home to Bucky Barnes. When he walked in a few people gave him jaunty waves, which he returned with a sure-fire grin, and a word or two in Steve’s ear to tell him a funny story about each of them.  
Within a few moments of walking through the door, Bucky had a pretty blond dame on his arm and was being pulled onto the hardwoods floor of the dancehall. Steve, who’d never been good at dancing, waved him off with a smirk. He’d try to find a corner where he could-  
“Steven?” A soft, warm voice said from behind him, and when he turned, a literal gang of girls were standing behind him, with a familiar face leading them.  
“Abigail?” He said, voice sounding a little strained.  
“Oh, girls!” She gasped, hands clasped over her chest like some kind of novella heroine, “This is Steve I told you about!”

* * *

  
He told her he couldn’t dance, and she didn’t listen. She didn’t listen and her 5 friends didn’t listen and so Steve found himself on the hardwood floor for what felt like hours, every time he thought he’d managed to escape a new friend of Abigail’s would show up and demand a dance. He wasn’t sure where Bucky had gone off to – he wasn’t even sure were Abigail had got to at that point. He wasn’t a good dancer, but his partners were young and enthusiastic and didn’t seem to mind much. He was grateful that he’d been able to afford his medication, lungs almost working like a normal person when he took a quick puff of his inhaler, but his legs were like jelly. He managed to convince Sophie (who could have been Abigail’s twin, or cousin or best friend, he couldn’t keep track anymore) to keep off the floor with the bribe of buying her a drink. He ended up buying all of them drinks, because if didn’t seem fair to buy one and not the other, and Abigail re-appeared she scolded them all for taking advantage, but it didn’t stop her from blushing so pretty when he pressed a glass into her hand. He was trapped in a sea of lilac and rose scented girls when Bucky finally showed up, a good head taller than the girls (and Steve too) and a grin over his lips that was easy and inviting.  
“Abigail, this is Buck, I mean, this is James.” He said, because she’d been tapping her foot and looking meaningfully at the floor while Steve tried to get some feeling back into his feet. “He can dance circles around me.” He added, and Bucky shot him a look that Steve was going to class as amused.  
“Oh, any friend of Steve’s is a good ‘un in my book!” She enthused, and her (friends? Cousins?) agreed with smiles and nods.  
It took no time at all for Bucky to have each of them on the floor, one arm or not, he could still dance just as good as any fella in the place, and Steve kept the girls company between their turns at dancing with him.  
The money in his pocket was dropping low, not too bad, but enough that he knew he’d perhaps be able to buy another set of drinks for Abigail and her never-ending supply of friends and then call it a night, when Bucky appeared with his arm around the waist of one of the girls. His hair, which had been slicked back, was a little damp with sweat from all the dancing he’d been doing, eyes bright and sparkling. He was surrounded by a gaggle of very pretty girls, and Steve thought he was looking at the best looking person in the place.  
“Right, ladies, I think we’re about to be thrown out.” Bucky said, when the lights dimmed for a moment. The girls let out little groans of unhappiness and Steve couldn’t believe the time already, it felt like they’d only just arrived and now it was well after midnight. “We’ll walk you home though.” Bucky said, grinning at Steve. “You know how Steve is about protecting ladies.”  
That got a giggle from them all and Abigail was suddenly at his side, smiling and cooing at him. “He’s a real hero,” She agreed, slipping her arm around his waist.

* * *

  
The made a merry group on the walk back, the girls talking and giggling up a storm as Bucky regaled them with tales of his exaggerated bravery on the front lines. Abigail stuck by Steve’s side, warm and smelling like lavender and not keeping his attention the way a pretty girl should. Steve knew she was too young – hell, she was only just turned 17 – and he used that like a shield, the reason he wasn’t attracted to her was her age. It had nothing to do with Bucky and the self-satisfied smirks he was throwing Steve’s direction every time he got a particularly good reaction to his tall tales.  
“Your friend is much nicer than your roommates.” Abigail whispered into his ear and Steve found himself nodding.

* * *

  
They kissed him on the cheek when they reached the building they were all staying at, warm press of lips and flower scents that made Steve smile.  
“I had the best night, Steve.” Abigail said into his ear before she pulled away. “You and your friend really made us feel top drawer.”  
“Well, it’s easy when it’s true,” Steve said, with a swift peck to her cheek that made her blush like a rose. “Now you’d better get to bed or you’ll be no use at church tomorrow.”  
Bucky stood by his side as they watched the girl’s trip and giggle up the stairs to the building, and waved them off until each of them disappeared inside.  
“Steve, you’re a liar and a cad.” Bucky said when the door finally shut. His voice was teasing and light and full of good humour, but the words churned Steve’s insides like a mangle. “Tellin’ me you aint got a whole gaggle of pretty dames just waitin’ to pose for ya.” He slung his arm around Steve’s shoulder and pulled him along into a walk. “Liar. Never danced with so many girls in one night in the whole of my life.” He grinned and squeezed the back of Steve’s neck gently. “Saw a couple fellas from work, sittin at the bar – thought their eyes were gonna pop outta their heads when those girls were all around ya. Made a lot of fellas pretty green tonight, I’ll bet.” He let out a laugh that filled the dark street and set a dog to barking at the noise. “A regular dark horse you are.” He said, with a wink.  
“You know it’s not like that.” Steve managed, enjoying too much the warmth from Bucky’s body seeping through his clothes and into his own skin, fighting off the cold night air. “You know.”  
“I know.” Bucky grinned, white teeth in the night. “Still, wasn’t a half bad night.” He gave Steve a good natured shove. “I’ve got a bottle of Scotch an a half bottle of gin at my place if you wanna?”  
Steve most definitely **_did_ ** wanna.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky’s place was small but clean, just two rooms – a bedroom and a living room with a stove and dining table against the far wall. The floorboards were scrubbed almost white, and the rug that was thrown on the floor was a muted navy, soft from washing. He had a couch, well-worn but not a single stain on it, and a stack of books on the low side table. The area wasn’t bad, much nicer than anywhere Steve had lived. “Military pinned a couple of medals on my chest and sent me off with a pension that covers most of the rent.” He told Steve. “Aint much but it’s a helluva lot nicer than the barracks, and the heating works.”

“It’s real nice.” Steve finds himself saying, looking at the books on the table. There is a blue bible mixed in the titles of books Steve remembers from his classes.

“I get a free copy.” Bucky says in response to his raised eyebrow, pulling it out and opening it. It seems to fall open to a particular page, and Bucky hands it over. It’s Steve’s drawing, in black and white, printed on a full page. He’d never seen anything of his in print before, and finds himself smiling at the dare in her eyes. Bucky sets two glasses down on the table and, holding the bottle between his legs, twists the cap off with his hand. He pours two full glasses before putting the bottle on the table, uncapped, and lifts it to his lips, motioning Steve to do the same.

It’s cool and hot at the same time, and burns his throat when he swallows, eyes watering. Bucky grins at the expression and nods at the bible slack in Steve’s hand. “I dare ya to read one of those stories.”

Steve knows he’s flushed, knows that his face is red, partly from the drink and partly from the words, but he shakes his head. “No.”

“I dare ya, or else you drink the **_whole_ ** glass.”

So Steve does the only thing he could do – he tips the glass to his lips and drinks the whole thing in one mouthful, burning and spicy and far too much – he swallows and ends up coughing as his throat closes to protect itself from the harsh alcohol. “I dare you.” He finds himself saying, and Bucky snorts.

“Crazy mook, I aint scared of some dirty words – I **_wrote_ ** half of em.” He says; drink down on the table and sitting on the couch. Steve sits too – because it’s either that or he falls over. Bucky pulls the book out of his hand and opens it at a random page.

 _“I am small and curvy, with long hair the colour of gold in the sunlight.”_ He says, his voice a high falsetto, tone simpering – and Steve laughs at the prissy expression on Bucky face. “Shut it, punk, I’m narrating **_art_** here.” He shoots back, and turns back to the page. “ _And tonight I am so lonely that I think about the burly repairman at the end of the hall._ ” Bucky rolls his eyes and looks at Steve. “You can tell this was typed up by Rumlow.” He tells him. “He always puts in the letters where the guys are huge.”

“Yeah?” Steve agrees, reaching for the bottle and topping up both glasses with whiskey.

“Yeah, it’s the same damn thing every week. Guys’ got no imagination.” He clears his throat. “ _The Rumlow shaped thug at the end of the hall is large and sometimes when he talks to me, I can see the outline of his massive cock against his overalls._ ” Another snort. “He fucking wishes, I saw him pulling one out in the john and he’s got nothing goin' on down there.”

Steve can feel his face on fire. He knows he’s too red, knows he’s out of his depth. “I mean, you know, it’s just tiny.” Bucky leans the book against his chest and grabs his glass, downing the whole thing. “He always writes about how dames are choking on cock, that’s how you know his stuff,” He rolls his eyes and waves his glass for Steve to top it up, which he does, face hot. “Doubt he’s know what to do with a dame if she was on her knees in front of him. You ever see a tiny dick?”

“Not a lot of guys got their hands on their johnsons in the investment sector I think,” Steve manages, and Bucky laughs, taking another mouthful of whiskey.

“Just you then, huh?” He grins, and then laughs at Steve’s spluttering. “I think sometimes working there fucks with my head, you know? Like – it’s hard to tell what’s **_normal_**. Take a girl dancing and just expect she’s gonna suck your dick in the alley or something.” He takes another swig, oblivious to Steve’s burning face, the thought of some faceless girl on her knees, Bucky’s hand in her hair, touching… “Didn’t even think I could get it up for regular stuff anymore,” He admits, “Worked there two years after the war spat me out, thought maybe my brain was wired wrong.”

“I don’t think your wired wrong.” Steve found himself saying, mouth working without consulting his brain. “You treated those girls nice tonight, and danced with em all and didn’t try to be fresh or expect nothin’ but a peck on the cheek when they got home.” He sees Bucky watching him with lidded eyes and smiles. “Sounds like your head is on just fine.”

“I wanted **_somethin_** ’ though.”

“But you didn’t go forcing it, or being a chump, so I think that’s what counts.”

“You are some fella, Stevie.”

“I ain’t nothin’ but honest.”

* * *

 

Steve woke up with a headache so bad he actually groaned himself awake. He was curled up on a soft, warm surface – instead of the hard floor of his office and was so confused for a moment he couldn’t think straight. There was a table swimming into view, clean but for a few rings of dark liquid that had come from the two empty bottles sitting beside a stack of books. His head was throbbing, his throat felt like he’d been eating fire – and then he saw…

Through the open door of the only other room, there was a bed. A bed big enough for two people if you didn’t mind a squeeze, and on that bed…

Bucky had obviously given up trying to get himself undressed and under the covers. His boots were off, but his pants and undershorts were tangled up at his knees as he’d passed out on the bed, feet flat on the floor and back to the bed, all Steve could see was his legs and… and…

His cock.

Hard and flushed and twitching between his splayed legs, larger than Steve had expected, it didn’t curl up to his stomach but hung heavy and blood full – the only hard cock Steve had ever seen that wasn’t his own. Thicker than Steve’s, he could tell even from the distance, not as veined – not as long – but still…

The pain in Steve’s head took a backseat as heat curled around his body. He shouldn’t be looking, he knew that – shame and desire flooding him in equal measure, he wanted to cover his eyes and jerk his dick at the same time. Then, while Steve was paralysed by indecision at what to do, Bucky moved. Slow and easy, like he was just waking up (which he was) his hand wrapped around the base of his dick as he gave himself a lazy tug, causing his balls to bounce a little, tight and high. Once, twice – and then he let go, dick hard but falling against his thigh as his hand reached down to tug at his balls, rolling the soft skin in his hand before reaching up and scratching his stomach absently.

Steve shut his eyes tight, willed his heart rate to slow, his face to burn less, because Bucky would wake up soon, he knew, and he’d kill Steve if he caught him looking.

He’d managed to get his breathing under control, helped by the pounding in his head that was making him feel equally nauseous and faint, when Bucky groaned. It wasn’t the type of groan that Steve would ever associate with jerking your dick – more the type of groan you might let out if you’d woken up with a killer hangover and a crick in your neck from sleeping in a stupid position all night.

“Aww **_fuck_**.” Bucky hissed, and the rustle of movement and swish of clothes was loud enough that Steve risked a yawn and a stretch before opening his eyes. He blinked a few times, and ran his hand through his hair, lank and a little greasy from the pizza and long night. He was wondering if he should risk looking in the direction of Bucky’s room when the man himself stumbled out.

His trousers were pulled up but not fastened, suspenders hanging down at his sides. But what caught Steve’s eye was the fact that he was shirtless.

Steve knew that Bucky only had the one arm. There was never any doubt that it was the case, but seeing him shirtless, the mess of scars and only a small stump where an arm **_should_** be, was shocking. The rest of Bucky was muscular and defined, his good arm strong and thick, a boxers arm – but it could not detract from what was missing. Steve didn’t mean to stare, but he caught himself doing it. It reminded him of a bird’s wing without the feathers.

Bucky hadn’t noticed. “Jesus, Stevie, did we finish off both bottles?” He complained, picking them both off the table with one hand and waving them in his direction. “For a little fella you can sure hold your drink.”

“I’ll pay you back.” Steve said, although his words were a little hard to hear when his throat felt like he’d been gargling glass all night.

“Uh huh.” Bucky said, walking to the other side of the room that was his kitchen area. “I’m gonna have a shower an then I’ll go get something to eat. Didn’t have time to get anything in.”

“I’ve got some change left from last night.” Steve said, sitting up and finding that his shirt was half off, dropping over his shoulder. His suit jacket was thrown somewhere on the floor. “I aint gonna let you pay for everything.”

* * *

 

Bucky had a shower first, a small room at the end of the hall that he all but pushed Steve into. The water was more lukewarm than hot, but it felt amazing to a guy who’d been washing himself in a sink for the better part of a month.

When he got back to Bucky’s room, he found him dressed and ready to go, hair damp and not styled so well as it normally was, just slicked back and left. The table was free of any marks, and Steve’s suit and shirt were folded neatly on the back of the couch. “I tried to get out the worst of the creases.” Bucky said. His shirt was pressed and crisp, sleeve pinned up like normal. “You can get dressed in my room, if you like.”

* * *

 

They bought more than they needed, with Steve’s extra coin, they got bacon and sausages, which they were both pretty pleased with. Sure, the bacon was paper thin and the sausages were more bread than meat, but it felt like when they added the toast and scrambled eggs (milked up to go further) and a couple of bashed oranges that had ‘fallen’ off the back of a crate at the docks, they felt like kings. There was enough left over that Bucky wouldn’t have to buy anything for a few days – job or not, the bills stacked up. “You probably wanna get home.” Bucky said, once Steve had finished drying off the pots and plates that Bucky had washed. He had methods of dealing with things one handed that made Steve hyper aware of just how easy he had it – one armed washing took longer (probably less time than it did take, especially with them as they kept stopping to joke or shove each other) than it would take a two armed person, but Bucky never complained.

The sky was darkening already, because they’d slept way past noon, and Steve remembered that he’d need to find someplace to go for the night, because his workplace was securely locked up. He couldn’t tell that to Bucky though, because Steve had some pride (not a **_lot_** , it seemed, but some) and Bucky knowing that Steve was homeless (even voluntarily) despite having a steady income was too much.

“I didn’t even realise the time,” He grinned, wiping his hands on the thin cloth. He felt full and warm – hot food a treat he’d been forgoing since sleeping at work. “I’d best get going.”

“You don-” Bucky started, and then seemed to change his mind at what he was going to say. “I mean, I can walk you.”

“I aint a dame, Buck,” Steve laughed, and grabbed his jacket.

“I’m just sayin!” Bucky laughed, and swatted him across the back of the head. “Punk.”

“Jerk.” Steve grinned back. “I’ll see ya at work tomorrow.”

* * *

 

He walked through the streets, sticking to the well-lit areas. It was cold, but thankfully dry, and his full stomach helped fight off the worst of his melancholy.

* * *

 

“You’re up early, Mr Rogers,” The man at the door said, with a nice bright smile. Steve was waiting for the building super to arrive and unlock the doors, standing huddled in the doorway with his suit jacket wrapped around him for warmth. He felt like he’d never been so cold in his life.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He chittered, Jaw locked tight against his shivering, trying to stop his teeth from rattling out of his head. All he wanted was to get back to his office, wrap himself up in his blanket at close his eyes for an hour.

“Oh, I know how that is.” The super (Steve just couldn’t remember his name, and felt bad for it) said. “My wife an I have got the loudest punks living next door – up at all times of the night.”

* * *

 

He got two hours of sleep before he woke up to the sounds of people walking around outside of his office. His head was painfully sore, and his feet were still numb – the tips of his fingers blue and purple under his nails. The idea of opening the window all day and letting the cold air into the room was enough to start him shivering again. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and his fingers found the small paper card from Bucky boss.

They wanted him to draw a whole book of dirty pictures. It had been easy to draw the first couple, the stories fed him the details he needed to make them feel alive, but he wasn’t even sure where to start without them as a kicking off point.

Quickly, he pulled out his small suitcase and took out his other suit – still thin and badly made, but not as badly sleep rumpled as the one he had on – and unlocked his door once he was dressed.

“Oh, good morning Steven.” Mr Erskine said, when Steve walked into the small break room. There was a coffee pot that they all put a penny into a week to drink as much as they liked, and the warm liquid was just what Steve needed.

“Good morning Mr Erskine.” Steve said politely. The clock on the wall said it was only just turning 7.30am, he was an hour and a half too early for work.

“Sharp this morning,” his boss said with a smile. “This is good! I was hoping I’d be able to talk to you today. Do you think you could come to my office for a spell?”

“Of course.” Steve said, politely, but his heart sinking to his feet. He’d only ever been in Mr Erskine’s office once before, and that was at his interview. He was sure he’d been doing a good job, and no one had complained about his letter writing – but in the current job market, even the littlest thing could end up getting a person fired. There were **_always_** willing bodies for every roll.

* * *

 

Bucky was sitting at his desk when Steve returned from his meeting with Mr Erskine, skin warm and a smile on his lips. For the past few hours, he’d been listening to the older man talk about how happy he’d been with Steve’s dedication and commitment to his work, that his long hours hadn’t gone un-noticed by the higher ups. He was getting a new roll added to his current one – he’d be handwriting letters to Stark Industries top investors, inviting them to start investing in new products that would soon be on the market – top secret things that Stark himself had been working on. They’d wanted a stand-up type of guy that would keep his lip buttoned on the new inventions, and Erskine had thought Steve was the man for the job. Although it meant more work (a lot more) it also would be almost doubling his weekly paycheck – Erskine wanted him to go to a monthly wage, just like the managers had – and, if Steve liked, a yearly bonus that could be paid in cash or (and this is what really got Steve excited) invested into the company.

Stark Industries was a fast growing company and Steve just knew that investing in it would pay off in the end – he just didn’t have the kind of cash to spare. He wanted to tell Bucky, but the other man wasn’t looking over – window shut tight against the morning air, so Steve settled down to look at the package that Erskine had handed him to look over.

It was stamped as ‘Top Secret’ in red ink, and opening it gave Steve a thrill. The letters were about a new generator that Howard Stark had been working on, running on water and some chemical compound. Cheaper than gas and oil once it got started, it could power a whole building with something he was calling ‘renewable energy’ – just reading the letter sounded like some pulp novel about space men and rocket ships on Mars and Steve was thrilled that he was getting to even know about this great leap in science. They wanted a letter written to the big investors, hand written and enthusiastic, but clear and understandable – Steve smiled as he started pulling out the notepad he used for his first drafts and started writing.

* * *

 

His office, so near the boiler, got warmer as the day went on. He’d finished his first draft of the letter he wanted to send to the investors, and put his pen down, rotating his wrist to stave off the cramp that was forming, and glanced over at the window.

Bucky was looking at something on his desk, still with the window shut tight, head bowed down almost like he was praying, body moving with each breath. It took a few moments for Steve to realise that Bucky wasn’t just breathing funny – his whole body was moving – because he had a hand down the front of his pants, working himself over at his desk.

He obviously hadn’t realised that Steve was sitting over the way from him, which was why his window was still shut tight (a rare event if it wasn’t raining) and Steve knew that he wasn’t supposed to see this.

Sure, Bucky might have told him that it was normal for guys over at the Red Room to jerk off as they worked – they read stories about sex and stuff all day – but Bucky had never suggested that he also did it.

Steve was trying not to look – he really was, but he could still see Bucky from the corner of his eye, body curled in on itself as he worked his hand under his pants. It made Steve burn, the cold that had been plaguing him all day evaporated as his body heated up, warming him all over – rushing between his legs, filling his cock with blood. He’d been good – he’d been so good – trying to keep his mind off Bucky on the bed, legs spread and that massive cock hanging there for Steve to see. He’d tried to banish it from his mind, but now it was all he could think of. He knew what Bucky’s cock looked like, could imagine how it felt in his hand, how Bucky might bite his bottom lip as he pulled – all of these things swam in his blood like poison, clouding his vision and shorting his brain. His door was locked – Erskine had told him to lock it when he was working on the new project – no one would walk in if Steve were to slip his hand in his shorts.

The only thing that stopped him was Bucky. Bucky who had obviously forgotten that Steve could see into his office, who could, at any point, look over and see Steve jerking off to **_him_** jerking off, and then Steve would lose everything. The tent in his slacks was too large to avoid – he’d once been proud that his dick wasn’t as small and useless as the rest of him, but now it seemed like a damn curse, pitching up so obviously that if Bucky looked over he would be able to see.

Carefully, so carefully that Bucky might not notice the sudden movement; Steve pushed his chair back and got to his feet. There was a space between the wall and the window, that if Steve leaned against, Bucky would not be able to see him. The danger was, anyone walking into the room would have a clear line of sight to Steve standing there with his dick in his hand – but the locked door had taken care of that for him. Quickly and silently, Steve undid the belt at his waist and pushed his slacks and shorts down to his thighs in one movement.

His dick was pale, but an angry red at the head, liquid already forming at the slit in a fat droplet. He wasn’t thick like Bucky, and veins were obvious and visible just under the skin. Steve had always liked the way they throbbed when he was hard, how he could almost see the blood in his body thrum through him, sensitive and alive. He wondered if Bucky would think his dick was better than any of the guys he worked with.

Grabbing his cock with one hand, he used his thumb to swipe the thick bead of liquid from the tip to ease the way. He thought about Bucky, thought about what Bucky might say if he saw Steve jerking off. Maybe he’d like it, Steve imagined, stroking himself hard and fast. Maybe he’d want to show Steve how he liked it, standing there at the door maybe, pulling on his own, fat cock. Maybe he’d come first, covering Steve’s cock in cum before Steve followed, painting stripes over Bucky’s dick in return.

It didn’t take long for Steve’s whole body to seize, thinking of Bucky, spilling into his hand so he wouldn’t get spunk on the carpet. He wondered what Bucky did with his cum as he licked his hand clean. The taste was salty and weird, but he’d always cleaned up the same way, ever since he knew what his dick was for. Girls swallowed it, he knew that from the stories they would tell at the orphanage, and now from the stories that Bucky would ask him to draw dirty pictures of for the bibles, so it wasn’t **_so_** weird, he figured.

He wiped his hand on his shorts before pulling everything back up and doing up his belt, letting his breath even out before pushing himself off of the wall. When he walked back to his desk on shaky legs, Bucky was sitting on the sill of his office, smoke between his lips and looking over. He gave Steve a jaunty wave, and Steve’s dick twitched again, too soon to get hard, but knowing that a few moments ago Bucky had used that same hand to jerk himself off.

“Morning.” He said, as Steve pushed open his own window. He was sure his office stunk of cum and sweat – and the air from the alley would be better than his boss walking in and smelling **_that_**.

“Afternoon now,” Bucky said, lazily taking a drag. “I saw you earlier but you weren’t paying attention when I waved.” He shrugged. “Where were you this morning? Couldn’t drag your lazy ass outta bed?”

Steve smirked, and shook his head. “I had a meeting with my boss.” He replied. “I got a new project. It’s like a promotion I guess. And a pay rise.” He tried not to think about Bucky sitting on the sill while Steve pulled on his dick in the corner.

Bucky looked a little pale at Steve’s words although he gave him a big grin. “Well, that’s awesome.” He nodded. “Is that why you weren’t here, they moving you to another office or something?”

“Hmm?” Steve asked, before shaking his head. “No, they want me to stay here.” He didn’t mention that the reason Erskine wanted him to keep his office was the lock on the door, keeping Starks secrets safe.

“So I still gotta look at your ugly mug through the day, huh?” Bucky grinned, wide and warm. Colour on his cheeks.

“Fraid so.” Steve smiled back. “Hey, do you know any apartments for rent?” He’d been aware that with his bump in pay every month that he’d be able to get a small place on his own, not having to share with anyone else – for the first time in his life. It sounded ideal. “Gotta get a new place.”

“Roommates giving you a hard time?” Bucky grinned, stubbing out his cigarette on the brick and blowing out a long stream of smoke. Steve just shrugged.

“Something like that. Not going back tonight.” Easier to make it look like his homeless situation was recent, new.

“You can stay with me till you find something.” Bucky said. “If you don’t mind the couch.”

“I’ve got the cash for a deposit.” Steve explained, “I just can’t see anything for a single guy that aint some pokey subdivision with screaming neighbours on all sides.”

“I’ll keep an eye out. You can come stay with me though, till you find something. I’ve still got some of that bacon left.” Bucky said, with a grin. “Hey, it can’t be worse that where you stay now, right?”

He really had no idea.

* * *

 

“So, this new fancy promotion,” Bucky said, as they sat down at his well-scrubbed table, “This mean you won’t be able to draw pictures no more?” They had used the fat off the bacon to flavour some soup, thick and stodgy – the kind of meal that stuck to your ribs – and were mopping it up with the last of the bread, only a little hard at the edges. No one, not even two working fellas, could really afford much else.

“I’ll just draw em at night.” Steve said, with a shrug. “I brought my pencils and pad with me.”

“Still can’t believe you upp’ed and left.” Bucky said, shaking his head. “A little bit of money in your pocket and you think you’re a king.”

“I sure feel like a king after that meal.” Steve shot back, hands on his stomach. “When did you get so good at cooking, anyway?” It was a deflection – he didn’t want Bucky to know that he’d left a month ago.

“Army rations. You gotta work out how to make something out of nothing fast if you wanna eat.” Bucky responded, and then let out a massive belch that had Steve holding his sides to stop from rolling on the floor. Bucky rolled his eyes and blushed a little.

They washed and dried the pots and bowls, just like they had done the day before, but this time Steve knew he had someplace to sleep, knew that Bucky wasn’t gonna expect him to leave.

“It’s been a while since I lived with anyone else.” Bucky admitted, while he put everything in its correct place once Steve had finished drying. “I normally just clean up and read some.”

“Well, I was gonna get my sketchbook out and draw something, so maybe you should just do whatever you normally do. I don’t wanna be in your way.”

* * *

 

Steve sat on the couch as Bucky carefully pressed his shirt from the iron on the stove top. He was wearing a vest and a worn out pair of pants that weren’t fit to be seen in public, and Steve was trying to keep his eyes on the sketch pad in front of him. The story that Bucky had given him wasn’t one of his, but his boss had picked it to get a drawing. He was to do 4 this time, for different stories, and he’d get a dollar for **_each_** , so they had to be good – but everything just looked wrong. He couldn’t work out how the dame was supposed to be standing – the story was no help at all, unless this girl was a damn octopus, the things she was describing just weren’t happening. “You okay over there?” Bucky said, pins in-between his lips as he painstakingly folded up the arm of his shirt on the table. “Normally all that huffin’ and puffin’ would mean you were enjoying yourself, but I don’t think that’s the case.”

“It’s this stupid drawing.” Steve said, fighting on the blush that threatened to set his face alight that Bucky thought Steve might be hard with him right there. “I just can’t work out how this stupid dame can do the things she’s doing.”

Bucky carefully set the hot iron to one side and wandered over. Steve had already done a few quick sketches for other scenes that he could use, but this particular image was where the guy in the story shot his load, so Steve figured it was the part most people would want a picture of. “What part you having trouble with?”

Steve threw him a dark look; he wasn’t going to say it out loud for anything – which Bucky knew, going by his smirk. “This part.” Steve said instead, handing over the typed up page, and pointing to the paragraph.

“Right.” Bucky grinned, pulling the paper out of his hand and reading it quickly. “So he’s on his back, and she’s riding him.” Bucky said, looking at Steve. “I don’t see the problem.”

“She’s got a hand on his shoulder and on her… on her-”

“On her tit.” Bucky supplied, which would have been helpful if he wasn’t laughing at Steve.

“Yes.” Steve said, tone flat. “But then she’s also getting…” He blushed too hard; he wasn’t good at talking about that kind of thing like Bucky was.

“He’s doing the rubbing.” Bucky supplied. “He’s on his back, she’s facing him, sitting up – she’s got one hand on her tit and one hand holding on to him, and he’s rubbing her cooch while fucking up into her.”

“How’s he able to move her then?” Steve said, looking back at his drawing. “She’s sitting on him.”

“She’s doing the moving.” Bucky said, sounding a little amused. “Here, let’s see what you’ve got.” He said, pulling the pad out of Steve’s hands. He glanced over the sketch and shook his head. “Her legs would be tucked up, not flat.” He tossed the pad on the couch beside Steve and shoved at his shoulder. “I’ll show you, lay back.”

Before Steve could even engage his brain, Bucky had managed to push him down onto his back on the couch, one foot on the floor and the other shoved under his notepad. “Wait – wha-” Was all he managed to get out before Bucky was suddenly straddling him, knees bracketing his hips, pushing down on the worn cushions. 

“So she’s like this, her legs are on the side of him, and think I’ve got two arms, yeah?” Bucky said, voice completely normal considering he was straddling Steve on his couch like it was the most normal thing in the whole world. “She’s got one hand on her tits like this,” He grabs his own chest, flat muscle where a woman would have soft curves. Steve knew he should do something, say something, but he’s trapped. The shock that was keeping him soft wasn’t going to last long, he knew, not with Bucky warm and solid over his prone body. “And the other one,” He takes his hand from his chest and puts it on Steve’s shoulder. “That’ll keep her steady while she’s riding him.” He rolls his hips once, using his knees to keep the movement controlled. “And he’s got one hand on her other tit,” He grins, lifting his hand from Steve’s shoulder and pulling Steve’s hand up to his heart. “And the other on her cooch.” For a horrible, brilliant moment, Steve thought Bucky was going to push Steve’s hand into his crotch too – but he just looked down at him with an odd expression in his eyes for a moment before grinning. “See?”

Steve wasn’t sure talking was something he could do at that point. Bucky was warm and solid, and his heart was under his palm, a sure, steady beat that Steve could not boast at the best of times, never mind when he was being straddled by a man whom he’d had various sexual fantasies about. “Got it?” Bucky asked before swinging off of Steve’s body like it was nothing, catlike in the way he could move his body. Steve always felt like he was made of knees and elbows.

He nodded and swallowed, and prayed to God that Bucky wasn’t paying too much attention to what was going on with Steve south of the belt, because his dick, soft from the surprise of being manhandled on his back, was suddenly very much back in play.

As Bucky had his back to him as he went back to the pressing of his shirt, Steve grabbed his notepad and pulled himself into what he hoped looked like an easy lounge, back against the arm rest and one leg on the couch cushions, notepad covering the prominent tent in his pants.

* * *

 

Bucky pressed Steve’s clothes too – despite all of Steve’s protests that they were fine the way they were. Bucky had been working for the Red Room for two years, and he was able to buy himself slightly nicer clothes than the cheap suits that Steve had been wearing. They weren’t anything like the neatly tailored suits like the gangsters or the fellas in the movies, but they were nice enough for a manager. “I like to look good.” He said, while Steve drew and Bucky pressed razor sharp seams into the fabric. “I figured, I only got the one arm, yeah? You see some guys, come back with one leg or half a face, and they look like hell – I’m not gonna be like that. I’m gonna wear nice clothes and try to keep my hair slicked.”

“You look swell.” Steve said, not looking up from his drawing. It was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind, playing the last hour over and over in his head like an endless newsreel.

“I need my hair cut.” Bucky replied. “But I get… odd… with sharp things near my head.”

“I don’t like being near water much.” Steve told him, eyes still fixed on the page in front of him. “I got pushed in the ocean once, nearly drowned. Ever since then I feel like I can’t breathe if I’m in water. Baths and stuff. Even if it’s a few inches of water.”

“Yeah.” Bucky said, “Yeah, I get that.”

* * *

 

It went like that until Friday night, when Bucky pressed an envelope into Steve’s hand and grinned. “Four dollars for the drawings.” He said, throwing his arm over Steve’s shoulder and grinning. “And I think I found you a place.”

* * *

 

It wasn’t too far from work, only one street from where Abigail and her army of friends lived. The building wasn’t too run down looking from the front, and the people who were on the streets looked a lot like Steve – worn suits and tired expressions. “Sitwell who I work with, he lived here with his missus, but they’ve had to move cause she’s in the family way and can’t work no more.” He said. “It’s a real quiet street, he said.”

The landlady was all smiles when they walked up to the room. “Rent is due on the last Friday of the month,” She said. “My sister and I are on the ground floor, so you just come see us if anything goes wrong.”

The apartment wasn’t a subdivision, twice the size that Steve had expected, with two bedrooms and a separate kitchen area. There was a worn, but clean, carpet on the floors and scrubbed wood in the kitchen and Steve knew he wasn’t going to be able to afford it as soon as he walked in. “I’ll leave you fellas to talk it over.” She said, and disappeared into the hallway, her little heels clicking as she walked back down the stairs.

“I can’t afford a place like this!” Steve said, as soon as he was sure she was out of earshot. “I doubt I could afford a place half this size!”

“I know.” Bucky shrugged. “But I was thinkin, you know, we could split the rent.” He was looking around, looking everywhere but at Steve, eyes flickering over the carpets and the faded paint on the walls. “It’s closer to work that my place, it’s a helluva nice area.” He walked through the rooms, Steve on his heels.

“You wanna split the rent?” Steve asked, looking at the apartment with new eyes. The lighting was great, and it felt warm despite the cold outside.

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged. “My landlord is threatening to up the rent on my place, you know? My pension won’t cover it, and I thought… we’re buddies, right?”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed.

“And with you making a few extra dollars on the drawings and my pay and pension… we could afford it.” He paused. “Enough room even if you got a dame,” He added.

“Or you.” Steve added.

“Hmm.” Was all Bucky said, with a smile. “So… you wanna?”

* * *

 

They paid the first three months rent upfront, much to the delight of the landlady. Bucky had some savings and Steve had almost 2 months’ worth of his pay, so they smiled and nodded and accepted the keys and some second hand furniture with a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

It was strange to go to work and see Bucky sitting over the way now that they were living together. Steve’s shirts and suits were pressed neater than when his mother had been alive and Bucky’s hair was neatly trimmed into a style copied from a movie he’d liked, courtesy of Steve. Their landlady (and her sister) had pointed them in the direction of a decent place where they picked up some furniture – Bucky had scrubbed everything twice before he’d even let it into the apartment, and Abigail and her five hundred sisters (or cousins, or friends) had spotted them in the street and would show up every couple of days with a home baked treat that they’d eat together, girls pressed together on the two mismatched couches and Steve and Bucky on the floor. The only thing that bothered Steve was that Bucky would sometimes forget that he lived with another person and would walk out of his room naked as the day he was born, or would palm his cock through his shorts if he was reading some pages for his work.

When that happened, Steve would try his best not to look, or would escape to his own room – desperately trying to keep his own hands off his cock.

He was writing a letter in his office when a paper plane landed neatly on his lap. Bucky’s whoop of success from his office over the alley making Steve smile.

“Working, Buck.” He said, pushing the paper aircraft to one side.

“Read it later then.” Bucky called over. “It’s a goodun. I already had a go.”

Then there was **_that_**.

Bucky had started to jack himself off at his desk more frequently. He no longer bothered to shut the window when he did it, so the sounds of his cut off moans and gasps travelled over the narrow alley and were apparently hotwired directly to Steve’s dick. Steve wanted to ask him to stop, because it was shameful the way he’d stand in the corner, hand wrapped around his cock and jerking himself to the sound of Bucky at his desk. He was fairly sure that Bucky knew – **_surely_** – but neither of them mentioned it, and Bucky just kept getting worse.

* * *

 

The story wasn’t anything Steve hadn’t read by that point, he was making steady money from drawing dirty pictures and was able to pay his share of the rent with ease – he had enough left over to buy himself some suits that fit, he went dancing on Friday nights with Bucky and Abigail’s sisters (or cousins, or friends), but he read it anyway, refolding it and throwing it back over the alley.

Bucky grinned. “Didn’t take you long at all.” He said, leaning back in his chair to give Steve a once over. “You need to work on your stamina.”

“I aint pulling one off at my desk, Bucky.” Steve shot back. He wasn’t even half hard, not after reading the same old repetitive stuff.

“I’m gonna send you over something one day.” Bucky grinned, going back to his typing. “You’ll see.”

* * *

 

“Jesus.” Bucky gasped, and hell, Steve thought he’d managed to escape Bucky’s apparent addiction of his hand on his Johnson for _**one day**_.

He was in the middle of writing out a particularly long letter about Starks latest invention (the generator was old news, he had a new idea every other week it seemed) and Steve was trying not to get bogged down in the details. He really didn’t want to lose the flow by being distracted by Bucky and his damn hand.

“Oh, fuck.” The other man moaned on a breath, and Steve glared at the piece of paper in front of him like it had committed a crime. “Oh, yeah.”

Steve got to his feet, anger bubbling with desire and frustration in his gut. He marched over to the window and shot Bucky the meanest glare he could manage. “Bucky, I swear to God, if you don’t-”

He didn’t get much further. Bucky didn’t have his hand down his pants, he had his pants at his knees – dick huge and visible and right in front of Steve. He didn’t even look over, and Steve knew he’d heard him, but Bucky didn’t stop and Steve felt like he was rooted to the spot. It didn’t take long for Bucky to tense up; cum hitting the napkin he’d placed over his knees to catch his release. He flopped back in his chair, hand lazily pulling until he’d milked the last drops. He looked relaxed; Steve thought, strangely – all the tension out of his bones. He didn’t look over at Steve at all until he’d tucked himself back into his pants and folded up the napkin, throwing it in the waste paper basket by his desk.

“You okay Steve?” He asked, once he’d fixed himself like nothing had happened. Steve was pretty sure he’d punch him if he was standing next to him.

“Shut the window next time, Buck.” He snapped. “I can’t work if all I can hear is you pulling on your dick all day.”

Bucky looked at him with a weird expression, before he shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

 

That night, Abigail and her army of sisters arrived not long after Bucky and Steve got back from work. Bucky hadn’t thrown his arm around Steve like normal and Steve wished he’d not lost his temper – he wanted to apologise but he wasn’t even sure how to bring it up. He surely wasn’t able to bring it up surrounded by girls.

“So Anna is turning 17 next week.” Abigail was saying, glancing between Steve and Bucky who were studiously ignoring the other despite being sat on the floor together as the girls took the couches. “And we wanted to know if you would take us dancing?”

“We take you dancing every week.” Steve pointed out, not unkindly – and Abigail threw one of the cushions at him.

“Don’t be a spoilsport.” She giggled. “We want to go dancing somewhere nice.”

“Are you sayin’ we don’t take you nice places?” Bucky grinned. “I’m hurt, truly.”

“All the girls in my typing class are just green.” Abigail crowed. “I told them that we went to Dukes dancing last week, and how Steve bought us drinks and how Bucky danced every dance.” Her friends (sisters? Cousins?) preened on the couch, tossing their curls over their shoulders.

“Margo Harris said we made it up!” Someone in pink fussed.

“Margo Harris is a bitter old hag.” Another shot back, “Cause she’s got to dance with her cousins from out of town and they’re not half as nice as Bucky and Steve.”

“And Harold Pottifer tried to slide up to me on Sunday after church.” Abigail said, which got a lot of titters from the rose scented couch.

A lot of their conversations were like this. Steve, who’d never had a sister, imagined this was what it was like, the gossip and the bickering. “And I told him that every dame in town knows he’s only after one thing.”

“Most fellas are.” Bucky pointed out.

“Not you.” Abigail said. “Not Steve.”

“No, not us.”

* * *

 

“You’d think I’d be getting **_some_** cooch with the amount of girls who walk through that door.” Bucky said, when the girls left. “I swear it aint fair.”

Steve blushed hard before throwing him a dirty look. “Don’t talk about them like that, they’re just kids.”

“She’s seventeen.” Bucky pointed out, shrugging. “Too young for me, but still. Aint had my dick wet in months.”

“Probably because you can’t keep your hand off it long enough.” Steve shot back – and internally cringed before Bucky let out a holler of a laugh.

“True enough, not that any of **_those_ ** girls wanna look twice at a fella.” He said, and laughed at Steve confused expression. “Buncha girls callin’ each other cousins?” He winked. “Trust me; they’re getting more action in the sheets than any fella in Brooklyn.”

It took Steve a while to understand what Bucky meant, and Bucky knew the moment that he **_did_** because he must have gone a terrific shade of crimson, and the other man let out a whoop of laughter. “Safer for them to have a couple of guys around em, they can go dancin’ and hold each other’s hands and folks just think their gossipin’ bout their beaus.” He waved his hand over them both, “That’s us, by the way.” He pointed out. “In case you missed it.”

“Girls aint like that.”

“Girls is **_just_** like that.” Bucky snorted. “What, you think them clubs no one knows about are filled with guys only? Nah, you’ll see just any many girls kissin on girls as the other way round. We get stories, all the time – two girls, two guys. Can’t publish em, of course, s’illegal – but it doesn’t stop them writing in.” He paused, before carrying on. “You’re supposed to report em, but I don’t bother. Who cares how folks get their kicks anyway?” He grinned. “Some are pretty good, shame no one ever gets to read em.”

“Bet you think I’m a prude.” Steve said, aware of just how much happened between people he had no idea about. “Not knowing all this stuff.”

Bucky just shrugged and slung his arm over Steve’s smaller shoulder. “I reckon that pretty much everyone is a prude if you use me as a yard stick. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You can ask me anything, I aint got a lick of shame. Go on, ask me anything.”

“I don’t think-”

“You think too much, just go on, anything you wanna know. No one asks me jack an I got all this stuff in my head.”

Steve knew it was a bad idea, he knew even before Bucky guided him to the couch, throwing himself at one end where he could watch Steve with a grin that promised all kinds of trouble. Steve wasn’t experienced with girls, he’d been on a few dates, but he’d never gotten further than a few kisses. The stories that Bucky gave him to draw were pretty much all he had to go on, and he wanted to know more.

“It is like the stories in the bibles?” He asked, and then wanted to curl up into a ball when Bucky laughed, head thrown back. Steve tossed a cushion at him. “I’m gonna go to bed if you’re gonna act like a jerk.” He said, about to get to his feet when Bucky grabbed his leg.

“I’m not making fun of you!” Bucky laughed. “It’s just nothing like the stories. You been with a girl?” He watched Steve’s minute shake of the head. “Been with a fella?”

“No.”

“Right, it’s not like the stories.” Bucky said, hand still on Steve’s leg. “Like, in the stories, these girls, they want it right away, and they’re all wet and ready and it’s not like that.” He grinned. “Best way to fuck a girl, you get her on a bed, and you get your head between her legs, and you lick her.” He grinned at Steve, wolfish, and Steve knew he was breathing just a touch to shallow, and that his cock was starting to get hard just with Bucky’s words. “It’s not about getting your cock in her. It’s about her wanting it so bad she’s begging.”

“You had a lot of girls begging?” Steve asked, trying to sound sceptical and teasing and coming out too soft, too much like a whisper for his own peace of mind.

“Every one.” Bucky grinned, leaning forward a little. “You wanna use your tongue, lick over her a few times, let her know what you wanna do – then when she’s squirming, you use your fingers to spread her a little. Get your tongue inside her,” He said, leaning closer to Steve, voice low and steady. “There this little button at the top of her cooch, loadsa fellas just ignore it, but you lick that, she’ll beg you to fuck her six ways till Sunday.”

Steve wanted to pull his legs up, pull away from Bucky – he was hard now, just thinking about what Bucky was talking about, just listening to his voice, but he was still holding on to Steve’s leg, grip tight enough to remind Steve that he wasn’t going anywhere. “When she’s really ready she’ll get wet, wetter than a mouth, and you gotta lick your fingers a little, an push one inside. I had a couple of girls loose it right at that, clenching around my fingers like they’re gonna die.”

Steve could imagine that, easily enough. “You still listening?” Bucky asked, and grinned wide when Steve nodded mutely. “You wanna fuck her with your fingers like that till she’s nice and loose, and that’s when you get your cock in her. When it’s just two dames, they’ll just fuck with fingers and mouths, an I’ll bet they know how to do it better than any guy.” He grinned. “You hard, Steve?” He asked quietly, and Steve knew that lying would be obvious, so he just shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he could actually talk. He was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to **_breathe_**. Bucky just smiled at him though, and nodded, eyes running over Steve’s much smaller body. “How much practice you got with girls?” He asked, after a moment – too long a moment where Steve was sure his heart would simply stop beating. “Done a lot of kissing and touching?”

Steve shook his head minutely, feeling out of his depth but desperate for more. He’d never had the same feeling, panic, guilt, lust, need – it all swirled around his body like liquid fire. He wanted to do something, **_everything_** , but was completely unsure of how to go about it.

“When I was a kid, some kids I knew would practice on each other, kissin’ and stuff, to get better for dames.” Bucky said, and Steve was hyper aware of the hand still holding onto his leg, like an anchor, keeping him tethered. “You have a buddy who helped you out like that?” He didn’t even wait for Steve to reply. “You want me to give you some help, Stevie, some pointers?”

He must have nodded, **_must_** have, because Bucky was pulling at his leg, then letting go to grab his shirt and pull him forward. “So say you’ve got a dame on the couch.” Bucky was saying, eyes fixed on Steve. “You wanna look at her mouth, let her know you wanna kiss her without saying anything.” His gaze slid down to Steve’s mouth as he talked, and leaned forward until Steve could feel his breath on his lips, hot puffs of air. “Then you just…”

Bucky’s lips were full, but firmer than any girl Steve had ever kissed, and although he was barely touching their mouths together, Steve could feel the power contained just below the surface. He could never confuse the feel of Bucky’s lips with a girl, not even if he were **_blindfolded_** , or near death. He could feel Bucky start to pull back, cutting short a kiss that Steve had wanted from the moment he’d seen Bucky at the window. He grabbed at Bucky, getting a fistful of cotton shirt, pulling him back. “Oh thank God.” Bucky groaned, and suddenly the kiss became more – more pressure, more hunger – Bucky’s tongue teasing before Steve parted his lips. Steve couldn’t help the groan that left his lungs as Bucky grabbed the back of his head, angling him better so Bucky could deepen the kiss. He twisted his body so that he could get closer to Bucky, misjudging completely and ending up sprawled on his back, Bucky landing heavy on his ribs. The pain was almost completely ignored for the feel of Bucky pressed against him, pinning him to the couch, using his body to work himself between Steve’s legs.

Bucky’s whole body felt like it was pressing Steve down, covering him completely as Bucky settled between Steve’s thin legs. He could feel Bucky against his thigh, hard and hot through two pairs of pants, wondered if Bucky could feel him too. His hands were clutching onto the cotton of Bucky’s shirt like a drowning man, Bucky still holding onto the back of his neck, hard enough that Steve thinks he may even bruise, but wonderful in its intensity.

He’s not quite sure how long they stay like that, Bucky pressed hard against him, mouths and tongues pressing together – but Steve feels the exact moment Bucky started to pull back. It’s complicated, with only one arm – he can’t just push himself upright when he had his arm half under Steve’s shoulder and neck, and Steve isn’t sure he wants to let him up at all, he certainly isn’t ready for whatever they are doing (practising? He’s sure it doesn’t **_feel_** like practising) to be over.

When Bucky finally manages to get himself up, he’s leaning over Steve with all his weight on his arm. His lips are swollen, flushed and slick and Steve wants to reach up and suck on the fullness of his bottom lip – but he doesn’t dare move. “I wanna tou-” Bucky started, but his words were cut off by a knock at the door. “Shit!” He hissed, recoiling at the sound. “Did you lock it?”

Steve was trying to scramble up, aware that the tent in his pants was obviously on show. Bucky was hard too, and as he got to his feet he tried to adjust himself to cover it – he wasn’t tenting like Steve, just obviously hanging hard down one trouser leg. “Steve, did you lock the fucking door?”

He hadn’t.

* * *

 

Abigail had forgotten her shawl, which had been thrown over the back of the couch when she arrived and was pooled onto the floor. She breezed in with the assurance of a child, chattering to her friend who followed after her about what so-and-so said, before kissing both of them on the cheek and swishing out.

Steve blushed red, fully aware that Bucky at least looked like he’d been kissed stupid, hair sticking up at odd angles – mouth swollen and slick and sinful, but she seemed not to notice. Her friend, however, shot Steve a knowing look before linking arms with Abigail and leaving.

“Why didn’t you lock the door?” Bucky said, as he passed Steve, stalking after the girls and locking the door securely behind them.

“I didn’t think I needed to.” Steve shot back, anger rising. “Why didn’t **_you_** lock the door if you knew that was gonna happen?” He was standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and glaring a Bucky with as much power as he could muster.

“Well I didn’t know it was going to happen!” Bucky snapped, running his hand over his shirt front again. “Else I would have told you to lock the damn door.” He paused, running his eyes over Steve in a way that made him feel a little like a bug under a microscope. “ ** _Fuck_**.”

* * *

 

They didn’t talk about the kiss. Steve was pretty sure Bucky regretted it ever happening and Steve was kept fairly busy with work and drawing – perhaps a little more busy than he needed to be, bringing work home and sitting at the kitchen table with his head bowed over his papers as Bucky cleaned.

He found that Bucky cleaned a lot. The apartment was spotless, at least once a week he would boil water and scrub every inch of the wooden floors, the table is white from the bicarb and splash of lemon he scrubs everything down with. Nothing gets into the apartment unless he’s boiled it in water or taken a wire brush to it so much that his hand is red raw. Steve asked him about it once, and only once. The answer was simple.

“They could have saved my arm.” He told Steve, as they both watched the large pot of water boil on the stove, a couple of nice second hand shirts that fit Steve much better than anything he’d worn before already inside. “But the mud and… fuckin’ **_filth_** everywhere… it got infected. They cut it off.” He glared at the pot. “Never gonna be dirty again.”

Steve didn’t want to mention that the obsession with being clean was a bit… overboard. Not even hospitals were as clean as Bucky kept the apartment. Steve would know, he spent a lot of time in hospitals.

Steve had been a sickly baby, a sick teen and now – almost 25 – he was starting to realise that he’d **_always_ ** be sick. He could feel it starting with each breath, a watery rattle that caught the back of his throat, not the first time that Steve had been sick since meeting Bucky, but certainly the first time he knew he’d be **_really_ ** sick – a fever making him sweat through his shirts even though the room was a pleasant temperature. He had lived long enough with sickness to know the signs.

He had enough money to afford the medications that steadied his heart and eased his lungs when he had an attack – Bucky kept an inhaler in his jacket pocket when they’d go out dancing and would slip it to Steve if he felt Steve was having issues with the girls who insisted he dance through the night despite his protests.

So he sat at the table they had in the kitchen and he wrote out his letters carefully, aware of his shaking hands that slowed his writing to a snail’s pace, and sweated through the shirt that Bucky had washed, starched and pressed. He was behind on his work after a most unproductive day, and the stack in front of him seemed to grow larger as he watched it.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked, as Steve focused on breathing. He wondered if he should use up his savings (what there was of it after Bucky had convinced him to buy some clothes that actually fit him) to get himself to a doctor – get some proper medications for what ailed him.

“M’fine, Buck.” He said, before his vision swam, and that was the last thing he remembered.

* * *

 

He woke up in bed, a thin sheet covering him that was damp with sweat, and a bottle of the good medicine on the small end table by his bedframe.

“Bucky’s had to go to work.” A soft female voice was saying, words taking longer to register in his mind. Abigail. “Anna and I said we’d come make sure you were okay, you gave everyone a bit of a scare.” A metal spoon touched his parched lips, and a thick, bitter sweet liquid filled his mouth. “You gotta swallow this.” She said, and Steve did as he was told before he drifted off again.

* * *

 

When he opened his eyes next, the bottle on the table was only half full, and the sky outside of his window was dark. Bucky had pulled a chair through to his room and was sleeping, chin tucked into his chest and his arm thrown over his body, moving with each rhythmical breath. Steve took a breath, shock at the lack of rattle almost making him start coughing all over again. His was no longer cold, and the feel of clammy sheets on his skin was enough to make him shudder as he pealed them away. Sitting up, he realised that he was naked aside from his shorts, and blushed hard that Bucky had probably been the one to strip him down. He carefully got to his feet, swaying only slightly for a moment before his head righted itself, and padded through to the kitchen for a drink of water.

He was half way through his second glass when he heard Bucky call out his name, panic laced through the word so sharp it was like a knife.

“Kitchen.” Steve called out, word scratchy with disuse and fever.

“You gotta get back to bed!” Bucky said, appearing at the door almost instantly, dark rings around his eyes.

“I’m okay.” Steve said, finishing the glass of water. “Feeling lots better.” He paused. “Hungry though.”

“No!” Bucky snapped, making a grab for the glass before Steve could put it in the basin. “Gotta boil that, Doctor said.” He glared at Steve. “You gotta get back to bed.”

“Jesus, Buck!” Steve found himself half yelling. “I’m fine, I feel loads better, okay? I’m **_fine_**.”

“Steve, you’ve been at deaths door for 5 days.” Bucky replied. “We’ve had a fucking priest in here **_twice_**. Get your ass into bed **_NOW_**!” The last word was an outright yell, and Steve knew that he’d probably woken the neighbours, but that wasn’t what he could think of right now.

“5 days?” He gasped, his head buzzing for something other than fever. “Oh god, my job!”

He’d never be able to afford his share of the rent if he got fired, and being off for 5 whole days was enough (more than enough!) for Mr Erskine to fire him. His savings wouldn’t be enough, nowhere near enough, to keep him housed until he found a new job.

“Don’t worry about your damn job, Steve.” Bucky was saying. “You nearly died!” But his words were far away, Steve could almost feel everything slipping through his fingers. A good job, a nice apartment, **_Bucky_** , being able to afford his pills and medicine, everything washing away. He could feel his lungs closing up, spots forming on his vision, blotting out the things he’d started to take for granted, the clean floors, the warmth of a heated building, **_Bucky_** , everything fading to black.

“Just breathe,” Bucky was saying, distantly, and the cold metal of his inhaler on his lips made him gasp.

It took a long time for his breathing to return to normal, for the numb feeling in his limbs to leave – the warmth of another person wrapped around him. They were sitting on the floor in the kitchen, back to the wall, Bucky with his arm wrapped around his body, his head tucked neatly into the crook of Bucky’s neck, the taller man’s cheek resting atop his head.

“You aint fired, you stupid Punk.” He was saying. “Your boss even came over, you aint fired.” He tightened his arm around Steve. “You aint fired. You nearly died, Steve.”

“What happened?” Steve asked, when he was sure he could breathe again, never wanting to move from the spot on the floor.

Bucky’s arm tightened around him like a reflex.

“If I tell ya, will you please get back into bed?”

Steve nodded. “Once you tell me.”

“Well, you were working at the table, an I asked if you were okay – an then you just…” Bucky shrugged helplessly. “Passed out. Like someone just floored ya with a right hook.” He rubbed his cheek along the top of Steve’s head softly. “I got the landlady to call a doctor in. Said it was just a fever, but Miss Eve, she was spittin’ mad, saying anyone could tell it wasn’t just no fever, but the doctor just said that it was a fever an made to leave.” Steve could feel him give a little chuckle. “They wouldn’t even let me pay him, just sent him out the door by the seat of his pants. _We aint payin no snake oil saleman!_ Miss Eve called after him. I tell ya Steve, if I wasn’t half mad with worry I’d have bust a gut laughing at his face.”

Steve smiled at the thought. Their landladies Miss Eve and her sister Miss Margo were firecrackers for sure. “She sat with you when I went to your work – I talked to your Boss, that Mr Erskine? He come right over here with me when I tol’ him, and he called this other doctor, fancy suit and shoes – I thought he’d wandered into the wrong part of town when I saw him – and he said it was the flu what got in your lungs an become pneumonia.” Bucky paused. “They thought it might have been TB, but he stayed for a good 2 hours, Steve, and he said he was sure it wasn’t, but to boil everything just to be safe, and I told him, I do anyway.” He tucked Steve tighter against his body. “And he was real pleased, said that it was probably why you weren’t sick all the time, cause it’s so clean.”

“I never seen hospitals cleaner.” Steve said, and Bucky nodded.

“He said that. Your boss, he asked me about the army, and what I was doin’ now and I told him – an I kinda thought he’d be real snooty, but he just asked if they paid me well and if I liked it well enough, and then he left with the Doctor.” He paused. “Miss Eve called a priest after the first day, cause you weren’t getting no better, even with the fancy medicine and then you woke up an you were fightin and struggling and kept saying you were drowning, cause of all the water in your lungs.” He shuddered. “Then after that you went real still and we thought for sure you were gonna die, and Miss Margo she called the Priest **_again_** an he said you weren’t long for this life an Abigail was wailing like you were already gone, an Miss Margo and Miss Eve were all clutching at their crosses an prayin’, but I **_knew_**.” He stopped talking and got to his feet, pulling Steve up. “And I was right. So, back to bed and we’ll see how you are tomorrow.”

* * *

 

Although he didn’t think he was tired, as soon as Steve was put back into his bed (clean sheets quickly added by Bucky who took the damp, sweat logged ones to be boiled with lemon and bicarb) he was out like a light.

* * *

 

He still had a job, which Steve classed as nothing short of a miracle once he was able to fully realise just how long he’d been sick for. Bucky, who’d been going to work while Abigail and her cousin (sister? Friend?) Anna watched over him, had fallen behind a little and was trying to cram as much writing as he could into his work hours. Mr Erskine was more than happy for Steve to go back to work, but kept popping through to make sure he was okay – and his workload was reduced almost in half for the first week, to ease him back.

 


	4. Chapter 4

He was paid a whole 4 dollars for his drawings the night before Anna’s birthday, and he drew her a card that had her dressed like a movie star, with handsome actors from the silver screen holding open boxes of jewellery for her to look at. She screamed so loud that Steve thought he might actually lose the hearing in both his ears, but mostly he was just happy that she liked it.

Bucky had made him buy a new suit, a navy blue one that actually fit him – Bucky was wearing a light coloured beige one that made him look like he’d walked off a movie set, with his hair slicked back and a cocky grin. One arm pinned up or not, he certainly looked the part.

Abigail and Anna ( ** _friends_** , Bucky told him, **_very_** good friends) were the only two they could take because Bucky had blagged his way to a couple of invites to some swanky party, and they could only get two of the girls in. This actually seemed to heighten the excitement of the girls who were now getting a rare treat at the exclusion of their friends.

* * *

 

Abigail was holding tight onto his arm when they walked up to the hotel, both of the girls had spent a better part of the day getting ready for the party, their hair elaborate and their dresses made of cheap material but cut well enough to hide it. Abigail had even cut Steve’s hair and gelled it so it sat more like Bucky’s, which got him a wink when he finally walked out of his bedroom.

“James Barnes and Steven Rogers.” Bucky said to the doorman, who looked them all up and down before nodding.

“Oh, my God.” Abigail said as they walked into the foyer, and Steve could only try to keep his eyes in his head. Steve obviously knew that the difference between the way the rich lived and the way the poor lived was large, but as he took in the gold, the marble, the frankly dizzying display of diamonds, furs, feathers and cut glass beads on the ladies – he realised just how different they were.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” He said, low enough that only Bucky and Abigail could hear him. “We’re gonna get thrown out.”

Abigail nodded slightly, eyes wide and intimidated, but Bucky just grinned.

“You worry too much Steve. I told ya, we’re on the list. We’re fine.” He looked around the room and spotted the bar. “Right, we’ll get a drink and work out the lay of the land.”

* * *

 

The drinks were in crystal glass, and the lightly bubbling champagne made Steve achingly aware that he only had 4 dollars in his pocket. “Drink it slow.” Abigail whispered in his ear, her red lips making her look a little older than she was. He nodded, gratefully. He’d never be able to afford another round.

Anna, on Bucky’s left, slightly obscuring his arm from the crowd, was carefully sipping on her glass too – and Steve noticed that with each tip of the crystal to her lips, the level of her drink never dropped. He adopted this ‘fake’ sip himself, enjoying the tingle of the bubbles on his lips.

The dances were almost identical to the ones in the halls they went to, just with less people – and better dancers. Steve watched the full band (playing in the corner with smart matching suits and shining brass instruments) with growing unease. He seriously doubted he’d be able to get up on the floor without making a complete idiot of himself.

* * *

 

The party was in full swing, and it turned out that when drunk, the rich were just the same as the poor. They fell over and talked too loud and didn’t seem to look where they were going. Bucky and Anna had been dancing, and Steve had even taken Abigail up on the floor for one of the slower numbers, but they were both more than happy to watch the people around them.

“I never would have thought it would be like this.” Anna was saying, leaning over Bucky and Steve to whisper to Abigail. “Look at the **_jewels_** on these women.”

“I think you’re the prettiest dames in the room,” Bucky said with his sure-fire grin, “And you don’t even need all those baubles to keep our eyes.”

Both girls giggled prettily, which drew some approving looks from men in suits much finer than Bucky and Steve could afford. Not long after that they were requested for dances, men with greying hair and diamond tie pins that walked around like they owned the place (and probably did).

“Looks like we’ve lost our dates.” Bucky grinned, sliding up as close to Steve as he could without attracting looks.

“I’m sure they’re enjoying themselves.” Steve replied, smiling politely at an attractive woman who was trying to make her way to the bar. “Excuse me, please.” Steve said, walking forward and gently moving a few of the more obtuse men out of her way with a sharp elbow, “Let the lady past.” She smiled back at him, and when she reached the bar, she offered her hand.

“Maria Carbonell,” She said, in cultured tones, diamonds glittering around her wrists and neck, two large heavy stones pulling slightly on her earlobes. Her dress, a sea green, made her look like an exotic ocean nymph.

“Steven Rogers.” He said, shaking her hand. He was sure he’d done the wrong thing by the expression on her face, but she was polite enough not to mention it.

“Of the Hampden Rogers?”

“Ah, no.” Steve smiled. “Just th-”

“Maria! Ah, Maria.” A handsome man said, striding across the room. “I wonder where you’d wandered off to.” He looked at Steve like a bug under a microscope. Steve knew exactly who he was.

“Mr Stark.” He nodded, and heard Bucky make a small, quiet intake of breath from behind him.

“Steven here was helping clear the way for me so I could get to the bar, dear.”

“Steven?”

“Rogers, Sir.”

“I recognise the name.” Howard Stark said, before snapping his fingers in the air. “Maria, how do I know the name?”

“I work for you, Mr Stark.” Steve said, as Miss Carbonell shrugged a gossamer covered shoulder, obviously already bored.

“Hm? Oh, wait, you’re Erskine’s find! The one with the nice writing!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Enjoying the party?” Howard asked, snaking an arm around the Miss Carbonell’s waist. She smiled at him indulgently.

“Yes, sir.”

“Say, barkeep, a bottle of champagne for my friend here, on me.” Stark said, before nodding at him and walking away, Miss Carbonell following him.

* * *

 

Abigail and Anna were both completely dunk. Steve and Bucky, who’d been watching their glasses most of the night because something ingrained deep into them from birth was that nothing was ever free without some kind hook, were not.

“You think we could stay with you tonight?” Abigail asked, as Anna giggled into her neck. They’d taken a cab as near to their apartment as they could afford, but they still needed to walk a ways. Anna and Abigail were walking with their arms wrapped around one another, whispering and giggling and generally being more affectionate than Steve thought was appropriate in the middle of the street.

“Nope.” Bucky said, popping the ‘p’ with his lips comically, which got more giggles than in should have.

“Oh, please?” Anna asked, turning to pout at them both. “We’ll stay in Steve’s room.”

“Oh really?” Steve snorted, at the same time Bucky asked, “And where will Steve stay?”

Both girls dissolved into peals of laughter that they tried to stifle into their hands. “Why, he sleeps in your room, doesn’t he?” Abigail asked, without even a hint of a blush. “We don’t see how it’s fair how you have an empty room and you don’t even offer us to move in.” She glanced over at Steve and smiled. “Everyone knows we’re good as engaged.”

* * *

 

They dropped the girls off at their apartment, which got two very pouting looks thrown at them, but Steve wasn’t all that concerned. He was more than occupied with the speculative look Bucky kept throwing him on the walk home.

“You asked Abigail to marry you?”

“No I **_didn’t_**.” Steve snapped. “It aint even like that.” He shot back. “You know, you **_know_** we haven’t done more than holding hands and even then **_you’re_** there, or her sisters, or cousins, or whoever the hell else is there.”

“Steve, calm down.” Bucky said, throwing his arm over Steve’s shoulder as they walked up to their own apartment. “I know. Just thought it was funny, you know? Two fellas dating two dames, who are seeing each other.” He grinned. “Like one of the stories for work.”

“You don’t even know if they are.” Steve reminded him, as he unlocked the door of their rooms.

“I know for sure.” Bucky advised as he walked in, toeing off his shoes and nodding at Steve to do the same. He had rules about outdoor shoes indoors. “I caught em neckin’ in the coat room before we left.”

“Lair.” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“No I’m not.” Bucky replied. “I told em they were being stupid carrying on like that in public and they’d get us all arrested.” He held out his hands for Steve’s jacket. “Properly going at it, hands on tits and everything.” He paused. “Didn’t mind watchin it, but gotta say, it didn’t get my engine revvin’ like I thought it might.”

“Buck, a stiff breeze gets **_your_** engine going.” Steve pointed out. “I work over the way from you, don’t forget, I know how much you-”

“Crank the gear?” Bucky grinned.

“Work the wrench.” Steve snorted, before he realised just how close Bucky was standing.

“Maybe I just like cleaning the pipes when I know you know.” Bucky said, leaning a little closer. “You think that makes me a bad person?” His voice had dropped to a low whisper, standing only a few inches from Steve.

Steve was pretty sure that he should say something. He’s suspected for a while that Bucky liked to be watched, liked to be overheard – but he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to being told it as fact. He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to drop his eyes to Bucky’s mouth. He watched, dumbstruck as Bucky darted his tongue out, swiping over his full bottom lip. “You wanna watch me, Stevie?” He whispered, leaning forward a little more, so his body loomed over Steves. “Wanna let me paint you up?”

He nodded, he must have nodded, because Bucky was suddenly kissing him – pushing him against the wall with his shoulder and grabbing the back of his head so he could angle Steve’s mouth against his better. Steve could feel the whole of Bucky pressed into him, a solid, hot weight that made his own body ache for more contact. After a few moments of kissing – not long enough for Steve, certainly not long enough at **_all_** – Bucky pulled back. “You wanna, yeah?” He asked, before kissing down the side of Steve’s neck. The feel of his lips, the slight brush of itchy stubble – everything felt too much and not enough. “Stevie, you wanna, right?” His mouth, hot and wet and perfect on the tendon of Steve’s neck, breathed the words into his skin, and Steve – who’d been passively letting himself be moved by the larger man, wanted more.

He lifted his arms and fisted both his hands into Bucky’s neat hair, running fingers through until he could pull Bucky back a little, reaching up to kiss him again. “Buck,” His said, pulling away only enough to talk. “Did you lock the fucking door this time?”

* * *

 

Bucky was still laughing when he pushed Steve into his room. Their bedrooms were small, identical right down to the matching beat up beds, but Bucky had added a few more personal touches to his room. He had a mirror set against a small dresser, with his comb and pomade laid out in military straight lines, and a box of pins for his sleeves. He’d also pinned a couple of sketches Steve had drawn – Brooklyn views, a couple of the busy dances they’d go to, one of the girls sitting on the couch giggling away. They were pinned neatly (like everything in Bucky’s life) onto the wall, like some kind of rare art, and when Steve saw them, he blushed hard.

“I didn’t know you kept these.” Steve said, as Bucky shut the door behind them.

“I try to keep everything you draw.” Bucky mumbled, before reaching out for Steve and kissing him some more. “Figure, when you’re famous, they’ll be worth something.”

“You only keeping me around for my art, Mr Barnes?” Steve teased, or at least – he tried to tease, but Bucky had slid his hand between their bodies and cupped his obvious erection and the last couple of words came out only as a breathy sigh.

“Got other reasons to keep you around, Mr Rogers.” Bucky grinned, rubbing slightly. “I knew last time, knew you weren’t gonna be small. Remember thinking… wonder what that’ll taste like…”

Steve couldn’t respond, he managed a high pitched whine, and his dick, already hard, jerked under Bucky’s palm – through two layers of cloth, he knew there would be a damp spot forming. “I wanna get you out of this damn suit.” Bucky growled in his ear, before biting the lobe gently and sucking. “You shouldn’t wear nice things around me, Stevie, I just wanna dirty you up so bad.” His hand cupped Steve’s dick once more, before moving upward to pull at his tie. “Wanna dress you up in vests and suits, nice stuff – **_expensive_** stuff – want you to come in your shorts, wanna cover you up in my spunk.” Bucky moaned into Steve’s ear as Steve franticly tried to get out of the shirt he was wearing, fingers fumbling on the buttons. “Want to ruin you, Stevie, wanna fucking **_ruin_** you.”

It didn’t take long for Steve to strip, not with Bucky saying those things in his ear, things Steve didn’t even know he wanted – things he knew would never actually happen (not with Bucky’s **_obsession_ ** with cleanliness) and soon he was standing in just his shorts, Bucky’s hand resting on the waistband, thumb tracing circles on the exposed skin of his hip. Bucky was still fully dressed, still had on his damn suit jacket, looking down at Steve.

“Sit on the bed.” Bucky said, voice low. “Wanna... wanna do so much to you Steve. You don’t even know. Been wanting this since a saw you sittin at that desk.”

Steve sat heavily down on the edge of the bed, whining when Bucky dropped to his knees immediately after. “Push these down.” He said, and Steve hesitated for a second before Bucky looked up at him. “I got one arm, Steve; you gotta help me out a little here.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I fucking know I don’t **_have_** to, you punk.” Bucky said, smile faltering a little. “You don’t want me to?”

Steve didn’t answer, just canted his hips a little, pushing his shorts over and down his ass. He was nervous, nervous because this was Bucky, and he’d obviously had more experience with this than Steve, and he obviously knew what other guys looked like, and Steve suddenly thought maybe his pride in having a cock that looked bigger than he thought a small guy like him should have – maybe that was misplaced. Maybe he was small. He was smaller than Bucky, who was so large that when he was hard it hung low rather than curving up to his stomach. He didn’t have long to worry.

“Jesus, Stevie, that’s a nice dick.” Bucky said, looking up at Steve through his lashes – which made his stomach clench more than his words. “I knew you weren’t shrimp, but…” Bucky paused, and grinned. “We’re gonna do this all ways.” He told Steve, like he expected Steve to know any ways. “ ** _Every_** way.”

Steve just nodded, he’d agree to anything Bucky said at this point, his dick throbbing and inches away from Bucky’s face, his mouth. He knew what was coming, he’d drawn enough dames on their knees to know what Bucky was going to do, but this was real, and it was Bucky and Steve wasn’t going to last long _ **at all.**_

His hips jerked once when Bucky wrapped his hand around Steve’s cock, far firmer than Steve was expecting and almost, almost but not quite, enough to hurt. The whine that broke free of his lips wasn’t dignified at all. Bucky didn’t let up on the pressure though, and the next thing Steve knew, Bucky had Steve’s dick in his mouth. Shock at the wet, hot warmth stole anything he might have said – he was trying hard to remember to breath, and was pretty sure if Bucky wasn’t gripping him so tight he’d shoot his load instantly on the first hard suck Bucky gave him. All he could think about was how good, how unbelievably – painfully – good the sensations were. Too much, far too much, as Bucky bobbed his head again and again, sucking harder as he pulled up. Steve eyes were closed, breaths tight and laboured and his whole body was gasping for release – in the stories he read the guys were always thrusting into mouths, going for an age before fucking into a dames pussy. Steve wasn’t going to get more than a few seconds, and Bucky seemed to know it – he pulled off with a pop that made Steve whine, the cool air from the room making his wet cock twitch. “Open your eyes.” Bucky commanded, and Steve shook his head.

“M’ not gonna last.”

“I want you to watch.” Bucky said, and squeezed a little tighter on the base of Steve’s dick, ripping a groan of discomfort from deep in his lungs. “Want to be watched, Stevie, you gonna give me what I want?”

Steve nodded, forcing his eyes open. When he looked at Bucky, another groan left his lips, although this time not in pain. Bucky was looking up at him, mouth spit slick and red and far too much for Steve to take in. “You wanna watch me, Steve?” Bucky asked, and when Steve nodded, Bucky smirked. “Tell me.”

“I wanna see.” Steve managed, and his voice was harsh and ragged and like he’d been calling out (which he may have been).

“ ** _Tell me_**.” Bucky said, licking a stripe up Steves cock.

“Wanna see you.” Steve said, words faltering along with his breathing. He wasn’t sure if Bucky wanted more, but Steve just **_couldn’t_** – he couldn’t hardly **_breathe_** , never mind talk, and Bucky must have understood because he smirked, and look Steve back into his mouth.

Steve eyes fluttered shut, and Bucky stopped sucking just long enough for Steve to force them open again, to watch Bucky.

The whole thing was obscene. Bucky mouth was stretched with Steve’s cock, cheeks hollowing out with every suck, eyes fixed on Steve. Steve’s hips were jerking almost constantly, he was unable to keep still – everything in him screaming, begging for release. “You like it?” Bucky asked, pulling off only for long enough to talk, before taking even more of Steve into his mouth. His lips were bumping against the hand that was holding Steve tight enough to stop his orgasm, and Steve whined at the sight of his dick between those lips.

“Please…” He found himself whining, over and over, desperate and sounding nothing like himself. After what felt like an eternity, Bucky smirked – smirked with Steve still completely inside his mouth, lips tugging at the sides and a slight brush of his teeth, and pulled his hand away, before sucking Steve so hard that Steve felt his dick hit the back of Bucky’s throat, the older man swallowing – lips wrapped around the base of Steve’s dick.

He came almost instantly, whole body tightening up, spine snapping taught like a wire, lost in the relief, white spots forming on his vision.

By the time he managed to focus, Bucky had already moved, standing over Steve’s prone body, still in his suit. He’d got his pants down enough to get his own, huge cock, into his hand, and he was working it over fast and tight.

“You taste so good Steve.” He was saying, voice ragged from where Steve’s dick had hit his throat. “Wanna let you fuck my mouth over and over.”

Steve realised that he was completely sprawled out on the bed, legs splayed open – his dick soft and lying spent against his thigh. He tried to sit up, but Bucky whined, a needy sound that made Steve’s dick twitch too soon, almost painfully sensitive. “Please, please Stevie,” He whined, hand almost a blur over his dick now. “Wanna… **_please_**.”

Steve’s pleasure fogged brain remembered all the things that Bucky had told him, the things he wanted to do – what he liked, what he really liked.

“You look real good like that, Buck.” Steve tried, not sure if he said the right thing when Bucky’s hand slowed down.

“Yeah?” He asked, eyes on Steve.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. He was naked, sprawled out on the bed with his legs open and completely exposed, but Bucky’s eyes looked vulnerable. “The best.” He added, because he wasn’t a liar and he couldn’t imagine anyone looking better than Bucky did right then. Bucky cock was leaking a lot of clear liquid at the tip, more than Steve normally did, and he could hear the wet noises from where Bucky was still pulling, using the liquid to ease his hand. “I watch you when you jerk off at your desk.” Steve admitted, seeing how Bucky’s hips jerked, more liquid forming at the tip of his cock, the way he nodded – eyes glassy and unfocused. Steve thought he understood – Bucky liked to be watched. He liked **_Steve_** watching. He liked to talk (he’d shown that when they’d been on the couch, all those weeks ago) and maybe he liked Steve talking too. Steve wanted to be good for Bucky. He wanted Bucky to feel good about him, about doing this. About maybe doing this more. Because Steve **_really_** wanted to do this more.

“I like seeing you like this.” Steve said, testing the words out. He knew he should feel exposed, spread out over Bucky’s bed, but when Bucky’s dick started leaking so much Steve could hear the drip of it on the floor at his feet he thought maybe it was worth the embarrassment. “Want to see you like this all the time.” He said, carefully watching to make sure that Bucky was still enjoying… everything. “I jerk off in my office after I watch you.” He admitted, and thought for one horrible instant that he’d gone too far – Bucky froze completely, and then –

Steve felt the warm splash of Bucky’s cum hit his thighs – some landing on his own limp dick and over his stomach. Bucky was still frozen; eyes fixed on Steve, mouth parted slightly – still red and slick from where he’d sucked on Steve. It lasted a few seconds, and then he sagged like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

* * *

 

Their apartment wasn’t much – they had to share the washroom at the end of the hall, but they had running hot water in the kitchen. Bucky recovered fairly quickly from his orgasm, and left Steve sprawled on the bed while he disappeared, mumbling about getting them cleaned up. Steve had only managed to sit up when Bucky returned with a bucket of steaming water, dick tucked back into his suit pants and only a slight sheen of sweat on his brow to even suggest that anything had happened. Steve, completely naked and liberally splattered with cold jizz, looked about as wrecked as a person could be. He felt uncomfortable about being so exposed, feeling a little crazy because only a few moments ago he’d felt okay about it – but the difference was that Bucky had been there with him.

But Bucky didn’t seem to notice Steves discomfort as he put the pail on the floor and brought out a rag. “Gotta get you cleaned up before this dries all gross.” He told Steve, squeezing the worst of the water out of the rag before reaching out to Steve.

“I can do it.” Steve said, making a grab for the cloth, only to have Bucky pull it back, sharply.

“I know you can.” He said, frowning. “But I made the mess, and it’s my job to clean it up.” The cloth was warm on his skin, but it reminded Steve too much of hospital stays, and he told Bucky as much. “I just…” Bucky shrugged, eventually handing over the cloth to Steve. “I just wanted to be nice. To you.”

“You’ve been nice.” Steve mumbled, quickly dragging the hot cloth over his skin, being careful of his oversensitive dick. He’d always been able to go a few times a night, maybe even more (he’d never really had the opportunity to test himself) but he didn’t want to take the chance of getting hard again, not with Bucky fully clothed. He didn’t look when Bucky got back on his feet, walking around the room and picking up Steve’s clothing, haphazardly left where he’d tossed them. Bucky carefully picked up each item and folded it with his hand and chin – it took him longer to do things with only one arm, but he still managed to fold his clothes a thousand times neater than Steve could.

 Steve was drying himself off roughly when Bucky started pulling off his own suit, taking each item off with care and placing them on top of the neat pile he’d made of Steve’s clothes.

He striped of completely while Steve watched, watched because he was really unsure what is going on – Bucky wanted to clean him up, Steve thought, so that he could go back to his room, but then he put Steve’s clothes on the bottom of the pile and he was naked and glorious and watching Steve with a smirk. “You gonna get in the bed or just sit on top of it all night?” He asked, before taking the wet cloth that Steve had put back in the bucket of water and wiping down a section of the floor. On his knees and completely naked, Steve’s dick twitched, filling up with blood again. Bucky noticed (of **_course_ ** Bucky noticed, he was kneeling at Steve’s feet) and his grin got wider. “Hey, Steve?” He asked, and Steve could feel his face going beat red. “You really like me on my knees, huh?”

“Shuddup, Jerk.” Steve mumbled, grabbing at the edge of the blanket and pulling it over himself.

* * *

 

Bucky curled up behind him and was sleeping before Steve even got himself settled, the steady in and out of Bucky’s breath on the back of his neck new and strange, but comforting. Bucky had scrubbed the floor clean, _not having my fucking cum on the floor, Steve, we’re not animals_ , and taken the bucket of water back out to the kitchen. He seemed completely comfortable with his naked body in a way that Steve envied – one arm or not, he was always going to look better than Steve.

So he lay there, just listening to Bucky’s steady breathing, and let himself relax.

* * *

 

He woke up gently, disorientated for a second before he remembered where he was – Bucky’s room, Bucky’s bed. Without Bucky.

The sunlight was streaming through the small window, casting the whole room in a cheerful yellow and gold hue, warming Steve up and making him smile a little.

Last night, Bucky had fallen asleep quickly, but he’d woken up in the middle of the night – trading kisses and rutting against one another. Bucky had only been able to come once more, but seemed utterly delighted that Steve was able to keep going – four more times. The last time had almost hurt, with nothing but a slight dribble of cum, wringing Steve dry and almost causing him to pass out with relief.

He could hear voices, Bucky’s laugh – and tried to sit up. He hurt all over, hurt in a delicious, aching way that made him want to purr like a cat. There was a glass of water by the bed, which he reached for and drank in three huge gulps. Hanging neatly on the outside of Bucky’s closet was a pair of Steve’s slacks and a faded shirt, on the floor by the bed, a lukewarm pail of water, a rag, soap and a towel.

* * *

 

When he stepped into the main room, Bucky was drinking a mug of coffee and chatting away to Abigail and Anna, both sitting on the couch, holding their own mugs.

“Afternoon, sleepyhead!” Abigail said, wiggling her fingers at him as Bucky smirked knowingly. Too knowingly for Steve, who blushed scarlet and busied himself with getting a cup of coffee into his own hands.

“Howard Stark proposed to Maria Carbonell last night.” Anna said, holding out the daily newssheet.

“She seemed nice.” Steve hedged, unsure what to say to that.

“That’s not the important part.” Anna said, now waving the paper at Steve. “Look at the picture they used!”

The sheet wasn’t the best quality, and the picture was blurred, but it was easy enough to make out Howard Stark and Ms Carbonell standing talking to a small blond headed man. “You’re on the cover of almost every paper in town.” Anna squealed.

“And Franny said we never really were at the party, and then she saw this and she went the colour of ash!” Abigail announced. “And Helen said she didn’t think it would have been such a swell night, and I told her we drank champagne from crystal glasses and danced with lots of rich men, and that shut her up.”

“We’re the most popular girls in the street!” Anna said, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll never have a better birthday.”

“Not ever.” Abigail agreed.

* * *

 

They’d brought a loaf of bread with them, and Bucky threw together a simple lunch with potatoes fried up and some scrambled egg watered down with milk to make it cover more plates. The girls, who’d both had more to drink than them, were trying not to show just how much they were suffering by telling Bucky and Steve how much all their **_friends_** were suffering with their jealousy. Bucky nodded and smiled and Steve (who’d felt like he’d spent the night in a desert he was so thirsty) tried not to think about the way Bucky would keep bumping his knee under the table.

“So… we wanted to ask you.” Abigail said after a while, “A serious question.”

“Shoot.” Bucky grinned, using the last of his bread to mop up the egg.

“You know I’ve passed my typing exam, and Anna’s been working at Pattersons this past year, being a sales girl.”

Both Bucky and Steve nodded. Anna’s job was the envy of her friends because she worked at the high end store and sometimes got to bring used samples of make-up home with her. “And I’ve been offered a job working for O’Tools, doing their typing.”

“That’s great Abigail!” Steve enthused, and Bucky nodded along with him, smiling even though his mouth was full.

“Uh, huh,” She said, waving her hand like it didn’t matter at all. “So you know… you know we’re… happy. **_Together_**.”

Bucky swallowed his bread. “Keep acting like how you were last night and half of Manhattan would have known.” He pointed out, which made both of the girls look a little sheepish.

“We want to leave the house. Together.”

“But we’re not earning enough to split the rent on a place.”

“And you’ve got a spare room.”

“And everyone knows that you take us places and dance with us and we thought…”

“We thought we could come here.”

“And pay our share of the rent.”

“And no one’ll think it’s odd two fellas and two dames sharing.”

“Not when **_everyone_** knows we’re your main girls.”

Bucky glanced over at Steve and blinked. “You girls seem to have this all worked out.” He said, after a pause. “But Steve and I aint…”

“Just please!” Abigail cut him off. “Please, just think about it! We’ll pay our share and we’ll do our chores and all we want is to be together.”

* * *

 

“You know, it’s not a bad idea.” Bucky said, when the girls had left. They were washing (Bucky was washing, and Steve was drying, like normal) the plates from their lunch, standing a little closer than before, shoulders brushing together as they worked. There had been a couple of touches that had Steve’s face burning, hands brushing when they gathered up the plates, knees knocking together under the table. “We could move your things through to my room, bed and all – you don’t have to share with me if you don’t wanna.”

Steve wasn’t really sure what to say. On one hand he really, really wanted to carry on with the touching and the… the sex… and kissing and all the good things that had happened through the night between them. But he wasn’t sure that going from friends to… whatever they were now to moving in to the same room together was really a great idea.

Then again, Steve had slept in smaller rooms, with more people. Privacy wasn't a big thing in an orphanage.

He was torn.

“Don’t bust a gut over it!” Bucky laughed, but Steve could see that he was slightly strained. “I just… you know, they’re good girls and it aint easy being, you know… different.” He shrugged.

“The extra money would help.” Steve nodded. They were doing okay, really, with Steve’s monthly salary coming through now, and the extra from his drawings – he actually earned a lot more than Bucky, which was a strange thought – he’d never been able to pull his own weight much when he’d been growing up. Money was tight – it was tight for everyone – but they’d been able to afford meat once a week and not a lot of people could say that. “But, people would talk.” He said. “Two young girls, not married. Folks wouldn’t like it.”

“Other folks don’t bother me.” Bucky shrugged. “They’ll talk less about livin’ in sin that they would if… you know…someone got _**caught**_.”

* * *

 

They didn’t talk much the rest of the day. Steve knew Bucky wanted the girls to move in. He wasn’t sure.

* * *

 

They ended up spending the day on the couch, Bucky reading one of his newer books (some pulp science novel he’d picked up) while Steve sketched some more drawings for the bibles. Every so often, Bucky would lean over and look at what Steve was doing, commenting on something just to make Steve blush hard. At one point he just leaned open the book on his lap and wrapped his arm over the back of the couch, hand resting easily on the back of Steve’s neck. Steve never thought much about Bucky only having the one arm, but the sting of annoyance that would come from Bucky needing to move his hand when he needed to turn a page was enough to make him realise he was wrong.

Almost as soon as Steve folded up his pad and put his pencils down, Bucky was pushing him down onto the couch, book forgotten. “Can’t take a hint, can you, punk?” Bucky grinned, between kissing and grinding his hips into Steve.

“You need to get better at hinting.” Steve said, and then he couldn’t say much else because Bucky was kissing him harder and both of them were straining against the fabric of their pants.

They didn’t talk much at all that day, although both of them were hoarse by the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say that there is one last chapter to go and this story is finished!  
> I also want to say thank you for all the great feedback - it's really amazing to read and really helps!


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up with Bucky was… an education, Steve found. He snapped awake quickly, probably from his army training, but took his time getting out of bed. They were both almost late for work because Bucky woke up hard and Steve had discovered that he loved the way Bucky felt in his mouth. Bucky loved that too – especially since years of pills and doctors and snake oil salesmen selling the latest cures had left Steve without the need to choke when something touched the back of his throat.

* * *

 

Mr Erskine dropped by three times through the day, each time to give Steve an additional job, more letters for Mr Stark – all top secret. His regular job was now being dealt with by a new girl who worked in the office next door and that sucked because Bucky kept his window open but told Steve in a hushed tone that she could probably see into his office just as good as Steve could. He kept his dick in his pants and Steve was trying not to pout.

* * *

 

They’d only just managed to lock the door before Bucky was on his knees, pulling at Steve’s pants and mouthing at his shorts.

* * *

 

Naked and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, dick half hard and panting so bad that Bucky’d actually passed over his inhaler; Steve wondered how anything could get better.

“So…” Bucky said, and Steve was getting used to how little comments that started like that would normally lead to something interesting with one (or both) of their dicks, felt his cock twitch. “I wanna try something. You don’t haveta if you don’t wanna.”

Steve knew now that when Bucky’s accent got thicker he was nervous, or excited. Or both. “But… there’s stuff, other stuff, we could be doin’, not just suckin’ and ruttin’ and that.”

Steve knew this. He might not have had much (any) experience with that kind of thing, but he knew how it worked. Some of the stories that never made it into the Bibles that Bucky wrote were pretty detailed on all the ways a fella could take a girl. The only reason he wasn’t asking about it himself was due to the fact he was never sure how to bring it up, and the fact that Bucky was pretty big. Big enough that even without Steve’s gagging reflex Steve still couldn’t get all of him in his mouth, big enough that he knew it was gonna hurt.

“I picked up some slick the other day, thought… thought we could see what it was like, you know… try it out.” Bucky, who normally didn’t get embarrassed by sex – the man who would whisper every deviant thought that came into his head – had a blush working from his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Okay.” Steve nodded, faking a confidence he didn’t have. The result was almost instant in Bucky’s body language. Tension Steve hadn’t even noticed suddenly disappeared from his shoulders, and he grinned.

“We gotta get clean first.” He said, pulling Steve to his feet. “I got this thing, puts water up your ass an then you shit it out, gets you clean.”

“I know what it does.” Steve managed, because he refused (point blank) to die of mortification when his dick was still wet with spit.

“You go first, and I’ll go after.” Bucky said, and Steve was already regretting the whole thing.

* * *

 

He showered for longer than he really needed once he’d cleaned himself out. Clinical and uncomfortable, it reminded him of hospital visits and sterile rooms – he certainly didn’t feel the hot tingling sensation under his skin he normally felt when faced with a long night of just him and Bucky.

* * *

 

It took Bucky longer than expected to come back from his own cleaning ritual and his face when he came back made Steve laugh. “You look like you just saw your Granma naked.” Steve scoffed, and then laugh again at Bucky’s pained grimace.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so…” He waved his hand.

“Gross?” Steve supplied, and grinned again at Bucky’s resigned nod.

“I thought it’d be kinda like getting ready for sex, you know, get me hot.” He said. “Felt like I was shitting myself after a bad bout of drinking that swill O’Mack’s calls beer.”

Steve couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of his throat at that. He wasn’t wrong, that was for sure – and soon both of them were in hysterics, grabbing at each other to stop from falling over.

* * *

 

They decided, **_Bucky_** decided, not to try anything. He didn’t feel in the mood after cleaning himself up, and Steve agreed because… there was **_nothing_ ** hot about what they’d done.

* * *

 

“You asleep, Stevie?” Bucky asked, hand curled across Steve’s hip and lips pressing into his neck. They’d spent the night playing cards after Steve had drawn some more dirty pictures. He even drew one of Bucky on his knees with a comically large stripe of cum over his face, his dick hard and heavy between his legs. ‘Saluting the Troops’ Steve had wrote along the bottom, in a banner. Bucky laughed hard and then stole it for his ‘personal collection’ of dirty pictures he’d made Steve draw him.

“Yeah.” Steve said. They’d gone to bed early, and Steve should have known that they weren’t going to get much sleep – ever since they’d started sharing a room (a bed, a closet… everything two people could share) they’d been pretty consistent in the amount of sleep they **_weren’t_** having.

“Yeah?” Bucky whispered, and rolled his whole body closer to Steve, the insistent press of his cock against the base of Steve’s spine. His hand pushed lower as he moved, skimming over Steve’s ribs, each one prominent under his skin, and past his flat stomach before wrapping around his dick. He wasn’t hard yet, but the dry touch of Bucky was enough to get him going. “Wanna try out some stuff, Stevie?” He whispered – and Steve knew how much Bucky leaked when he was hard, knew that the patch of skin where his dick was rubbing on his back would be sticky and wet. Steve liked it, but Steve liked **_everything_** about Bucky. “You gonna let me finger you?” He asked, voice a little breathless even though they hadn’t done anything yet. He knew well enough that Bucky liked to talk, it worked him up, and the warm wetness of his leaking dick pressing against Steve’s back was just further proof that he was excited.

“I aint a dame.” Steve glared into the night.

“I wouldn’t be here if you were a dame.” Bucky said, hand pulling away from Steve’s half hard cock. “Wouldn’t be able to suck you if you were a dame.” His hand cupped Steve’s hip, moving to grab his ass, small, bony. “Never liked a dame on my mouth half as much as I like you.” He said, fingers teasing the cleft. “Love when you’re in my mouth, love when you come so hard you forget to be gentle and you fuck my face, would let you choke me with your dick, Steve, I fucking love it.”

His words never failed to make Steve hard, and the tease of his hand, those fingers that had touched Steve everywhere but where they were headed now, kept him on edge – hard but nervous, worried because he knew it was gonna be uncomfortable. Painful maybe. “Pass the slick, Stevie.” Bucky said, hand squeezing his ass.

The tin of Vaseline was opened and held steady so Bucky could swipe a finger through the thick jelly. Steve didn’t think there was anything sexy or hot about it, but Bucky was already breathing harsh, the wet patch from his dick getting bigger – and Steve loved the sound of Bucky becoming undone.

The first touch was cold against the side of his ass, and Bucky swore at Steve’s flinch. “Shit, okay, sorry.” He paused. “Lie on your front.” He said, after obviously thinking for a second. “Legs open a little.” He kissed the back of Steve’s neck, an oddly tender gesture considering what he was about to do. “Be better with two hands.” He said, kissing Steve’s neck again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid, Buck.” Steve said, rolling onto his stomach. It would be better like that, his softening dick pushed into the mattress. Bucky wouldn’t be able to tell if he’d lost his erection that way. “I like you just the way you are.”

“You’re gonna like me more, soon.” Bucky promised, voice deepening. “I’m gonna make it so good, Steve.”

The first touch of the slick finger to his ass made him tense up, muscles tight and uncomfortable. He expected Bucky to push his finger in right away, but he didn’t – instead he gently touched the furled skin, mouthing at the skin on Steve’s neck, low enough that any mark he made should be easily covered by his shirt. Bucky loved the marks Steve would leave on him, the dark bruises hidden – private between them both, the inside of his thighs, the curve of his hip. After a few stretched out minutes, Steve found himself relaxing and Bucky made a pleased hum into his neck. “So good to me, Steve.” He whispered, licking over the probably impressive mark he’d been sucking into Steve’s pale skin, and slowly pushed the tip of his finger inside. Steve wasn’t sure what he was expecting – it felt weird, not painful, just… weird. He wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like – maybe this was what he should expect.

Bucky though, seemed to be enjoying it. “God, you’re so tight Steve.” He mumbled, mouth pushed into the ridges between Steve’s spine. Most of his words were lost, but the pressure of his finger remained steady.

“Feels good.” Steve said, hoping that Bucky wouldn’t pick that moment to try to touch his soft dick.

“Yeah?” Bucky said, sounding pleased, breathless, everything good Steve had come to associate with a good time.

“Yeah,” he lied, squirming a little, and yeah – Bucky seemed to buy it going on the quickening pace of his finger inside Steve’s body. “Yeah, Buck, feels real good.”

“Can you take another?” Bucky asked, voice tight, like he was trying to pace himself, and Steve nodded. It wasn’t hurting him and Bucky was enjoying it.

The second finger hurt. Steve whined, and Bucky groaned. “Fuck, Steve, yeah.” Into his spine, like Steve was the main event in his every fantasy. Bucky kept up the slow, easy pace and Steve tried to ignore the discomfort until it became… well… just weird again. He knew if he told Bucky, he’d stop. He also knew that Bucky was really, really into what they were doing and Steve didn’t want him to think that he was wrong to like it. He must have relaxed again, once the pain faded and left only discomfort, and Bucky took this to mean Steve was okay for another finger.

It hurt – Steve couldn’t figure out if it hurt more or less than the second, but the burn lasted longer – and he was close, so close to telling Bucky to stop, when the other man moved, trying to get a better angle with his hand maybe, and Steve felt his fingers move inside of him, curled slightly – and the white hot spike that shot through his body punched a groan from his lungs too loud for the room. Both of them froze, Steve in shock and Bucky obviously trying to work out what he’d done. He moved his fingers in and out again, and Steve shook his head.

“No, that’s not…” Bucky curled his fingers as he pulled out again and Steve arched off the bed with a whine. “Hnnn!” He groaned, and his dick, soft and forgotten, throbbed.

“I got you.” Bucky said, and Steve would punch him later for the self-satisfied smirk he heard in his voice, but Bucky was getting that spot just right every time, and Steve was unable to do anything but rock into the movement, each thrust ripping desperate moans from his throat.

“I wanna fuck you, Stevie.” Bucky was whispering, “Wanna feel you.”

“Please!” Steve gasped, because he needed more – he desperately needed **_more_**.

He fumbled the jar of slick, and whined when Bucky pulled out to coat his dick with the stuff. He probably scooped too much out, but Steve didn’t care.

The first push of Bucky against him was bigger, blunter, than his fingers, and he slipped a few times before the head of his cock finally pushed inside. It hurt, but Steve knew now that the hurt would fade and he was pushing back, trying to make Bucky move faster. “Slow it.” Bucky whined. “Jesus, Stevie, please, **_fuck_**.” His voice breaking on the last word. “Please, slow it, m’gonna blow.”

It took a long time for Bucky to push all the way in, and Steve lost a little of his hardness from the burn – Bucky’s hand was on his hip though, holding him steady and finally, finally, he was flush against Steve.

Steve was sure he’d been split open, he was sure he could feel Bucky in his throat, and the burn was too much. Bucky was breathing heavy and laboured, stretched over his back, knees between Steve’s skinny legs holding all his weight. There wasn’t a condom, although Bucky had said he’d wear one – Steve had shaken his head. “I aint a dame, you can’t knock me up,” and that was it. Bucky had always worn one with girls. Steve was the first guy he’d ever wanted to fuck – although he’d sucked a couple when he’d been younger. Steve wanted to be Bucky’s first at something – because Bucky had been Steve’s first at **_everything_**.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, moving his hand to rub at the base of Steve’s spine.

“Bigger’n I expected.” He found himself admitting. He was sure though, that once Bucky started to move, he’d surely brush the spot that had him seeing stars. Sure of it, because he was so damn thick he was touching everywhere inside of him.

“S’different with girls.” Bucky mumbled. “I should’ve waited longer.” He rubbed circles into Steve’s back. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Steve said. “Didn’t feel so good at first.” He said. “Weird. Bit gross. Dunno what you did, but it got good.” He felt his dick twitch at the memory. “Got real good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “Wanna feel it again.”

“Yeah?”

“ ** _Yeah_**.”

Bucky’s hand moved back to his hip as he pulled out slightly, both of them hissing on air, although probably for different reasons. The burn was still there, sharp and present, but (like he knew it would) the drag of Bucky’s cock rubbed over that spot and Steve was automatically rocking back, pushing Bucky’s cock back inside him, deeper.

The pace Bucky set was slow at first, despite Steve’s attempts to speed it up, and the burn faded to a background ache. Steve’s whines stopped being laced with pain and started to be of desperate need, and Bucky shifted a little, pushing his knees into the bed firmly, his hand leaving Steve’s hip to brace himself against the headboard – he picked up the pace.

Steve was sure he was making too much noise as Bucky fucked him into the mattress. His hips were pumping fast, dick dragging along the spot inside of Steve that had him pushing his face into the pillow to stop himself from screaming. He came like that, hands fisted in the sheets, mouth biting down, cum pulsing out of his dick, trapped between his skin and the mattress, and Bucky didn’t stop moving.

By the time Bucky’s thrusts had become erratic, Steve was hard again, hand pushed under his belly to franticly pull on his own cock, arching his hips to give him more room and inadvertently improving the angle that had Bucky hammering into that spot like his life depended on it.

Bucky came hard, jerking deep inside of Steve. He could feel the pulse of cum inside of him, and Bucky kept blindly thrusting until Steve whimpered and came again, covering the mattress in more spunk.

* * *

 

Steve was an hour early for work. It had been necessary, because if he’d waited any longer he’d have missed his ride and he was physically unable to rush.

Because he was aching.

Aching all over. Aching so bad Bucky had to help him out of bed (where he’d had to unstick himself from the sheets, and Bucky promised that he’d remember to clean them both up next time) and ease him into his clothes.

His ass was on **_fire_**.

* * *

 

Every time he shifted in his chair, he winced, and every time he winced, Bucky, with his window open across the way, would try not to smirk.

He never quite managed it.

* * *

* * *

 

The same day that Red Room published a complete book of full colour dirty drawings, Steven Grant Rogers married Abigail Mary O’Toole, in a twin ceremony with James Buchanan Barnes and Annabelle Conner.

The girls looked shy and happy and the announcement in the newspaper said that Howard Stark had shown up and gave his blessings. (It didn’t mention that he’d gotten Steve to sign a copy of the book he’d illustrated, and Steve still had no idea how he’d known that Steve drew the pictures).

* * *

 

They shared the two bedroom apartment for three years, until Bucky left Red Room to start his own publishing company, and his first client was his wife, who wrote romance novels for young ladies, and his second client was the wife of his best friend, who wrote dirty stories for old men. Both were illustrated.

* * *

 

Steve Rogers’s son, James Grant Rogers, was born three weeks and four days after the arrival of Stephanie Barnes. They grew up together, living in a large sprawling house that Steve had purchased after being promoted to head of investments at Stark Industries. Their living arrangements caused no comment amongst their liberal neighbours.

* * *

 

Howard Stark’s son dated Stephanie Barnes for exactly three hours before James Rogers punched him in the jaw for an inappropriate comment. At the wedding, Anthony Stark was the best man. He made a speech about his loose tooth, that made everyone laugh and the Bride and Groom blush.

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

In 2014 two old men, one still thin and brittle looking, and the other still strong with his arm pinned up neatly in the suit, stood together and filed for a marriage licence. 

Their designer suits were expertly fitted and their families stood beside them, three generations of children and grandchildren - dressed just as fancy as they could for an event that most of them had expected for years and never thought would happen.

"Sorry it's a bit late, Punk." Bucky said, sliding the ring onto the thin, bony finger of the man he had just married.

Steve just smiled, his eyes pale and watery, looked at their family and nodded. "Some stuff we had to do first." He agreed. "But I always knew it would happen in the end."

"Till the end of the line." Bucky agreed, and when he leaned forward to kiss his husband the cheer was deafening.

Well, except for Maria Barnes, who was three years old and just said " ** _Gross_**." to her best friend, Natalie Rogers, who was almost 4 years old and was also pretty sure grown-ups kissing was, in fact, gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's this one over!  
> I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it.   
> Obviously, I'm all up for feedback (tell me what you liked/hated!) and hugs all round to those that have already done so!  
> Adore this fandom and this couple to SHREDS.
> 
> Hugs forever,  
> Robyn   
> AKA: Bmwiid (on Tumblr)


End file.
